


When the Lights Go Out

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, BAMF Betty Cooper, Betty is confused and doing her best, Character Death, Diseased People not dead people, Don't You Dare Die On Me Blowjobs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, I shove every trope into a zombie au, In the sense that this does not take place during an initial outbreak, Jughead is single and has a knife, Minor Character Death, No undead Zombies, People are gonna die but probably not the people you love, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Riverdale as a safe haven, Sharing a Bed, Tentative Death List TM, There's only One Bed!, Tori makes a zombie au soft, Veronica and Archie are married and have a son, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie-ism is a bit of a sexually transmitted disease, but rather the aftermath, lots of friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-08-19 08:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 99,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16530917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: During the day, all is well with the world. Children laugh, men and women haggle in the Marketplace for blankets and food. But when the lights go out and all the houses are boarded up, the Diseased crawl from the sewer grates, dragging their decaying bodies through the streets. Today, The City, a bustling metropolis of hope admit the Outbreak, has fallen and Betty Cooper is forced to flee her home towards the safe haven of Riverdale, home of the Southside Serpents. Her mother has promised the once upon a time motorcycle gang will keep her safe, but when she immediately start bumping heads with their caustic leader, Jughead Jones, Betty starts to realize just how difficult the transition might be.





	1. The Fall of Babylon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_eee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_eee/gifts).



> Oh my god okay so this story is an interesting one. I have had the idea for it for a year. An entire year. I started writing this fic December of 2017 (you can go back on tumblr and see me muttering about it) but I kept talking myself out of it. With the spooky turn of events Riverdale is taking, and TCAOS coming out, I decided to buck up and at least ask a beta to take a look at the vague ideas and few pages I had written. Enter @theonlyemmaleigh, who is not only a hero, but a very patient person who's willing to listen to me hem and ha for days about if I should even be writing this fic. I don't even like zombies, but when I first started writing this I had gotten really into the Resident Evil games and I suddenly decided I wanted to write a zombie thing that made more sense to me from a logical standpoint (sick people, not dead ones) and took place during a time where people are actively trying to live and create normal societies, so it's not just focused on the immediate oh god suddenly people are eating each other, but more complexities and the ways culture would change.
> 
> Oh god I am rambling. Regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this pet project that I've been nursing for a little under a year.

As the rickety bus rolls past the decrepit The City limits, the sign hanging limply from the post that once held true and proud, Betty Cooper finds herself experiencing the final stage of grief: acceptance. Acceptance that her life will never be the same as it had before. Acceptance that her sister is dead and her family splintered. Acceptance that she will never again be able to return to her home, the City.

She looks around, eying the other passengers. Only a few, gaunt faces litter the old automobile, separated by distance physically and mentally. No doubt they are all busy with their own thoughts: experiencing the same pains as Betty. Before last year, the possibility of another Outbreak had been assumed nigh impossible. Before last year, lots of things had been assumed though. Most importantly: that The City could not fall.

The City: a bustling metropolis located in the very heart of New York and a safe haven from the original Outbreak. Home to the birthplace of anti-virus research, it became a shining beacon of hope. Hope that one day the world would finally be at peace again, safe from the Diseased that clambered around in the eerie stillness of the night. Thanks to The City’s efforts, the initial Outbreak had been halted in its tracks before it could cause any more damage to an already quaking world. The world still lay broken, disjointed, with other Cities cropping up in places like Chicago and Los Angeles, linking together townships in a symbiotic city-state. Whatever government was before was gone except a figure head whose voice would flicker over the worn radio waves during any times of crisis to calm his citizens. Whatever authority a man called the President had was nothing more than to litter the streets with propaganda about their great nation of Cities.

Betty had only been three years old when the plague had first struck. Her birthplace was not the pristine glittering skyline, but instead a quaint little town called Riverdale, four hours by bus outside of The City, and her current destination. Her mother, Alice Cooper, had never spoken much about Riverdale. She had lost her husband there after all, to the first Outbreak. No one could really blame her for leaving the ghost of all that behind, all but forbidding talk from anyone who might remember what it was like in their household. Despite it all, she’d clawed up the ranks to become part of The City’s Council, an elite group of men and women who had outlasted the first Outbreak and were dedicated to finding the critical cure.

Sometimes, Betty would get flashes of what it was like, flickers of something that used to be. A boy in a hat who was always dirty and babbled with the boy next door about books none of them could read. If she closed her eyes hard enough, she would see patches of middle-class America during the Time Before, where white picket fences were her only borders and she stomped in the rain with Chic even though her parents told her not to. She doubts Riverdale now was anything like that idealized fantasy.

Alice chose to stay behind in The City, with Betty’s older brother Chic, a former City Police Officer, with a promise to fix the mistakes that had caused this new round of Diseased to spring up, stronger, faster, and deadlier than before. Their goodbye was not tearful, Alice Cooper had no more tears to shed after Polly’s suicide. Betty can still hear those screams, so loud, punctuating the cool night air on the night it all happened, the night the lights had gone out and the streets were overrun with Diseased. She doesn't know the body count. Frankly, she doesn’t want to. All she knows is that Jason Blossom, Polly’s husband, had stumbled through the front steps of their modest home covered in blood, arms littered with bite marks. If she forgets to breathe for a second, Betty sees Polly standing there shell-shocked, watching her husband writhe and wither as Chic hauls him up to the attic and locks the door in a desperate attempt to keep them all safe. When she tries to sleep, she hears Alice pounding at the door and begging Polly to come out, to save herself, to come down. When the noise all fades, she hears her sister laugh and whisper, “No Mom. I want to be with Jason.”

But most of all, she remembers two shots reverberating off the hardwood floors and the loud wails of the Diseased being gunned down outside--an endless cacophony of noise on the worst night of her life. In the aftermath of it all, when a few members of the council had cracked into radio waves and assured the town that everything was safe, everything was fine, there was nothing to worry about, Alice had handed her youngest, and now only living, daughter a simple silver crown necklace, pulling her close to whisper, “Find him. You have blood with them. He’ll keep you safe. For me.” And then, she had tossed her onto the last bus out of the City with only a small duffle bag overstuffed with essentials.

Betty does not know who this mysterious him is, but she knows who  _ they _ are. One of the very few stories her mother had shared from her youth, and the only that specifically mentioned Riverdale, was from her days as a Southside Serpent. Back before the world had imploded, her Betty Crocker mother had been part of an infamous motorcycle gang, raising Hell in the streets of dreary small-town America. She doesn’t know much about them, but if her mother promises they can protect her, then she knows they will. There are very few people in this world, it seems, that do not owe Alice Cooper a debt.

The bus hits a pothole and Betty lurches forward, stomach churning with regret over her unfilling breakfast. Her mother had whipped up something quick: toast and the last of the eggs from their chicken coop before sending her daughter off into the unknown. No one knows what awaits her in Riverdale. When the second Outbreak came the connection lines had all been cut. There was no telling if she would be greeted to the booming agricultural safe haven her mother had described or an empty wasteland filled with unrisen corpses waiting to gnash at her ankles.

It was easy to tell the corpses from the Diseased. The Diseased hated the light and would find themselves holes or deep forest brushes to scramble into before the sun rose. The City’s sewer systems housed many of the creatures, their blistering bodies slumbering beneath the population as they went about their day, all the while pretending nothing was the matter until the night fell, the doors were locked, and the Police Officers began their patrols. Chic used to tell his younger sisters that if you pressed your ears to the pipes you could hear the tortured wails from below, their hunger loud and ravenous. On a schoolgirl dare, Polly had gone down into the sewers with a flashlight, just enough to take a peek and satiate her curiosity. Most of the Cityfolk had never seen a Diseased. The best they got were crudely drawn pictures in history textbooks and vague descriptions from family members on the force. Chic often kept his mouth shut tight, but his sisters were too curious for their own good. When Polly returned, she was not the same girl who had left, screaming in the dead of night until Alice finally managed to shake the truth out of her.

Betty had never seen her mother so angry before. Now, on this bus to nowhere, she’s sure that Alice’s worry had been well founded. She, after all, had lived through the first Outbreak, fled her home, her town, the only things she ever knew, the second her husband’s eyes had glazed over and he tried to swallow her youngest daughter in a single bite. That night is the only one Betty really remembers from Riverdale. Or, at least, the stories were so haunting they felt a part of her.

It was Chic who had saved her, Chic who had grabbed his baseball bat and smacked the man they’d once called father so hard his soft skull cracked opened. Betty had been wearing her favorite white Sunday dress, the one with the polka dots in the tulle. They had left it, along with Hal Cooper’s corpse, in a pile on the front lawn before hopping into the back of Alice’s station wagon and driving as fast and as far as they could. Strangely, what Betty remembers most is the perfectly painted sign with the river she never got to swim in and how she hoped there would be one wherever they were going.

The bus stalls again, throwing all the inhabitants forward. The couple mumbles to each other about the service and the driver curses and promises to have it sorted soon. He picks up his radio and places a call in numbers Betty doesn’t understand and doesn’t care to before exiting and going around front. She takes a moment to look out the window and study the world around her, the world that is going to be hers now--no more cityscapes, just maple trees, and overgrown forestry. That is, if Riverdale will even have her. They might not want City refugees in their walls, threatening the livelihood of the people who inhabit it. She hopes that her link to the Serpents gets her in, but she’s unsure if the others will be as lucky.

She uses the back of her worn sweater to wipe away the hot air she’s dusted the glass with, so she can see the sign. It’s the same one from all her nightmares, only this time it isn’t saying goodbye. Instead, it welcomes her.

_ Now Entering Riverdale: the Town with Pep! _

The sign is more worn than the one in her memories but still made of wood, still with the same familiar blue wiggle of the waterways. Sweetwater River, that’s what they called it. The sign feels far too enthusiastic, even though the word ‘pep’ has been crossed off with thick black spray paint and ‘death’ has been etched in its place. That is not a comforting thought, that death lingers around the town that is supposed to be her safe haven. Betty takes a shaky breath and tries to lock her feelings in a box, the only one that has kept her sane, filled to bursting with fears. Compartmentalize or die: that was the Cooper way.

“We’ll be waiting a while,” the bus driver calls to his few passengers. “They’ll send in someone from the City to come take us back. Until now we’re stranded and stuck. Sorry for the inconvenience folks.”

Back. No. No, they couldn’t go back. Her mother had told her not to go back, to never come back, no matter how painful it was to turn her back on everything she had ever held close. She looks out the window again and sees the flecks of orange on the horizon. Not much time. They aren’t that far away from Riverdale--three miles is what the sign says. She can walk three miles before the sun sets, with time to spare in case the worst happens and the inhabitants of the sleepy little town decide she’s better off left to die in the wilderness. That goes in the box with the rest of her worries, right next to the constant whispers that Chic and her mother are likely dead along with Polly and their house smells like rotting flesh, the walls are painted with coagulated blood.

She grabs her pink duffle and walks off the bus. It doesn’t matter that they’re looking at her like she’s crazy and the bus driver is telling her to, “ _ get the fuck back in here _ ” acting like some authority figure who thinks they know better. The world is dying, crumbling, corrupt and they are just going to sit there and allow themselves to get swept away in the storm. But she won’t. Betty Cooper promised her family she would survive.

“No one from the city is coming,” she shouts back at them. “So I’m going to Riverdale. You can come if you want, or you can stay and wait for the Diseased to scramble out from the trees once the sun sets. That’s your choice, not mine.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Someone will come.” The woman’s voice is shaky. She’s part of the couple that had sat behind her. She’s gaunt and her eyes practically pop out of her head. Betty is aware she doesn’t look like one of the Cityfolk, so the naivety strikes her hardest.

“Think what you want. I need to leave to make it there by sundown.”

No one follows her, not that she expected them to. Betty was always more adept at getting kindergarteners to listen to her than adults. For a second, the sadness sets in again, and she worries with each crunch about the kids she left behind in The City. She hopes they don’t miss Miss Betty and her silly puppet shows too much. She hopes they’re safe. She hopes they’re happy. She hopes that, if Riverdale has radios, she’ll turn it on and hear her mother over the airwaves, asking her to come home, because the City is safe and they’ve finally found a cure.

She hopes, but she doesn’t believe.

The trail is thick with overgrown branches, walked by only the occasional thug or looter, she suspects. The sidewalk and asphalt are cracked and broken and it’s no wonder that they had such a rough ride here. She ran, back in the City, nearly every morning, but the uphill trek makes her lungs burn and her feet ache. She has to grit her teeth and remember what she’s walking for. She doesn’t want to die. She won’t die, especially not in some forest on the edge of salvation.

It’s a long and painful walk. The weight of her duffle and the weight of the world are pressing her down, making it hard to trudge forward. The crown necklace still hanging from her neck feels just as heavy as the bag on her shoulder, searing into her flesh and leaving an indent forever in her skin. If it weren’t for survival and adrenaline to beat the countdown of the sun, she would have collapsed by now, laid and waited for the darkness of the world to consume her.

And then Betty sees it. She sees the barbed wire fence with the massive chain link lock where the door could be. She sees the blood that’s baked into the wire, mixing with the rust in the late afternoon sun. She also sees the emptiness and that hope she held so tightly to burns in her chest.

_ No one is home. _

It’s a bitter thought, one too hard to swallow. Betty goes to the fence and shakes it once, twice, three times in hopes someone will hear her. Everything is locked up tightly, so tightly it looks recently. The whole town couldn’t have died. This isn’t Roanoke. This is a township of the first City, protected and cherished. They know what they’re doing do keep the Diseased at bay, and whatever is happening in the City could not have possibly gotten this far.

In desperation, she shouts, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

No matter how far she runs, there’s no one there. No one guarding the front gate, no one walking the edge of the perimeter. No one. Nothing. There’s no noise, no hustle and bustle. Beyond the gates, she can see something, a slew of houses pressed tightly together with tan roofs and boarded up windows. It’s hard to make out anything more than that, but the trail around the area looks lived in. This would be easier with the bus. They know when the bus arrives and they know to check when the riders get off. A lone girl stumbling up a hill is likely only going to cause alarm.

She’ll die out here.

She feels the tears on her cheeks before she can even process she’s crying, can taste the salt on her tongue, throat desperate for any sort of liquid to quench her pain. She hasn’t had anything to drink since breakfast. There was a water bottle her mother packed but she must have left it on the bus in her haste to leave. She shouldn’t fall. She shouldn’t sit down in the dirt and cry. Alice would smack her senseless if she saw her like this, grab her by the collar and tell her to do what she has to. But right now, Betty doesn’t know what she has to do. She doesn’t know anything but the ache in her throat and her legs and her eyes.

The dirt is coarse under her hands, biting into the skin and stinging where the barbed wire cuts on her palms are. It helps, the pain, to calm her frazzled heart. Betty lifts her hands and wiggles her fingers. Red tinges the area, soaked up by the little flecks of brown. Vaguely, she remembers that Chic had always told her to clean up wounds as quickly as possible. The Diseased can smell blood and they love to hunt a wounded animal. That’s all she is now, she thinks vaguely, a bleeding lamb awaiting and ready for slaughter.

A crunch. A hushed whisper. A sound that sets fear into the very core of her being, igniting a fire so white hot, Betty launches to her feet despite the exhaustion. Her head spins, looking for any sign of what could have disturbed the chilling peace of silence. The sun hasn’t set yet; there are still rays of warmth on the horizon, but perhaps a lone Diseased had smelt her and been so overcome with hunger he had ripped himself from the dank darkness of his cave to devour her. If that’s the case, it should be weak enough for her to take on.

“Who’s there?” She swallows, trying to keep her voice from shaking. It’s unsuccessful, but she doubts the creature would care for her pomp regardless.

“On your knees. Now. And I wouldn’t move if I were you, unless you want an arrow right through that tight ponytail or yours.”

The voice is hostile, yes, but something vibrates at the edges, a sense of familiarity, of a voice Betty has not heard in a long time. She remembers a girl with fire red hair, identical to Jason's, who came by whenever he was around and asking after Polly. The girl would never stay long. She never seemed to want to be there. She never seemed to want to be anywhere, blood painted lips pursed around the straw of a milkshake. They were never friends, not really, but they tolerated each other’s company as the reality they would very likely be related one day became clearer with every passing day. Suddenly, she stopped coming around. Jason said she had run off to one of the townships, chasing after some girl on the back of a motorbike who had made her feel special. He never said where, but Betty has always suspected it might have something to do with Riverdale and the leather clad Serpents her mother had told her about.

“Cheryl. Don’t shoot. It’s me.”

“Me who, hobgoblin? And how the hell do you know my--wait. I know that outdated signature hairstyle and tacky cardigan aesthetic anywhere. Cousin Betty, is that you?”

Betty is crying again, crying before she even feels Cheryl’s arms around her, warm, right, comforting from someone she always associated with open hostility. The relief of having someone, anyone, in this world that she knows is palpable. Maybe she won’t end up food for the Diseased outside of a barb wire fence after all.

How Cheryl looks is a surprise. Her hair and are lips both are still red like wine, but so is her jacket, with a large coiling green serpent on the back, the words “Southside Serpent” embroidered into the faded patchwork. She never expected her salvation to take the form of her sister-in-law, but the world is offering her a gift and she dares not look it in the mouth.

“I heard whispers, that the City was falling, collapsed thanks to another Outbreak. How did you get out? Where did you get out? How’s Jay-Jay? And Polly?”

Betty shakes her head. She can’t say it. She can’t say the words but judging by the coldness in Cheryl’s eyes, she already knew all the answers. Her voice is cold, but not surprised. “It was just a matter of time, trapped in that rotten city, pretending like everything is fine.” She sighs, setting her bow aside to help Betty stand. “Did you get fatter? I swear you weren’t this heavy the time you fell off the swing sets when we were children.”

“I was twelve, Cheryl.” She laughs. She doesn’t know why she laughs. Maybe it’s delirium. Maybe the exhaustion has finally caught up to her and at any moment she’ll collapse. Or maybe she’s just glad to have someone, to have the loneliness and fear chased into the darkness for a few more moments.

“Details.” She whistles and from nowhere appears another woman around their age. She’s a brunette, the ends of her hair faded with something soft and pink, dirty now from years of poor upkeep. She’s small and quick, wearing black leather that engulfs and illuminates her all at once. Betty gets the feeling she should be absolutely terrified by this woman. Instead, she’s mesmerized. 

“Toni, this is my cousin from the City, Elizabeth. Jay-jay and her sister are married.” Betty wants to correct her, to remind her that you can’t stay married if both parties are dead--or maybe you can. With each passing day, the lines become more blurred and confusing, especially when the dead start living again. “We’re taking her inside.”

The woman, Toni her name is, frowns. She looks like a disgruntled forest nymph, something popping straight out of one of the books Betty used to always read to her students. “You know she isn’t supposed to be here, Cherry. No one is. We got news from Mayor Lodge this morning that a bus, the last bus before the City’s Quarantine lockdown happened, was coming our way, but Jughead already decided we were going to turn them away, send them to Greendale or Midville if we have to. Things are tight.”

“She’s family, TT,” Cheryl insists. “I’m not leaving her outside our fence like some common dog when I could bring her inside and ensure the last of what’s mine is safe. Besides, the Prince himself is still indebted to me after I went out of my way to save his mangy mutt from Scavengers after he tried to crawl through the fence, remember?”

They’re at a stalemate. Something bubbles in the air that Betty can’t quite define. Maybe she doesn’t want to. All of her is on fire, from the cracks on her feet that are no doubt leaking blood and blisters, to the scraps on her palms caked with dirt. Mercifully--and unsurprisingly, given how much she knows of Cheryl Blossom--Toni breaks first.

“Fine. You’re lucky Jug’s always had a thing for pretty blondes and damsels in distress.”

“Please, Betty is far from a damsel.”

She appreciates the compliment and is about to mutter a thank you, even if it does ring a bit hallow while she’s leaning against Cheryl for support, bleeding and bruised. Being rescued right now does not sound like the worst idea in the world.

Toni pulls out a key, old and rusted just like the iron fence and the lock that ties it together. “We’re supposed to keep patrolling the border until nightfall, Cher. Jughead is going to be pissed.”

“So let him. Jughead Jones can bite me.”

“I thought I was the only one allowed to bite you, baby?”

“Oh no, I bite you, TT. Remember that.”

Betty wants to say something, indicate that she is right here, witnessing this moment, but it feels too intimate to intrude, even if she is clinging onto Cheryl’s arm like some newborn fawn that has not yet learned to walk. It would probably be humiliating if she weren’t so tired. Toni locks the chains back up before they start their walk. Her feet still burn like she’s just spent the better part of the day dancing on hot coals, but the relief is there too. For now, she’s safe.

For a moment, her mind wanders back to the people on the bus. She hopes the City came, that there are police helping them into cars and driving them back within the walls to keep them safe. Or, at least, safer than the wilderness. She doesn’t know how safe the City truly is anymore.

_ No one is coming to save them. _

“So,” Toni breaks her thoughts from their melancholy. “What exactly is happening within City limits? All the info we got from Mayor Lodge is political bullshit and vague explanations.”

“I...don’t know.” It’s the truth, as much of it as she is willing to say for now. She doesn’t know what’s happening, just that it isn’t good. “There’s Diseased in our walls. There always has been, but we’ve kept them at bay. Something happened and they broke free and infected more people. Most everyone was on lockdown. The only reason I was allowed on the last bus was because my mother is a Council Woman and we could cut through some of the red tape.”

Toni snorts. “Figures. More fucking political privilege. I wonder how many Riverdale natives who went in for work are trapped in there while you get to escape.”

Betty doesn’t know why, but she feels defensive about her place. “I was born in Riverdale. We didn’t leave until the Outbreak happened and my dad tried to bite off my face.”

“We all have our sob stories, City Princess. I would make sure to cry when you tell yours. Jughead hates Cityfolk but his heart bleeds and if anyone cries he gets weak-kneed immediately.”

Before she can retort, or ask any clarifying questions, Toni has jogged ahead. Cheryl rolls her eyes and gives her cousin’s shoulder a squeeze. “Ignore my wife, Cousin Betty, she’s in a foul mood because the news from the City sent Jughead into a spiral. He’s been breaking our backs trying to make sure everything is in his state of perfection before nightfall.”

“Congratulations on the wedding, by the way. Jason told me that’s what happened, but I’m happy for you. I know you never liked living in the City.”

“Understatement of the century. It smelt like sewer water and all the people were far less exciting than me. I never really thought you belonged there either, so I’m glad to have you. I just wish the circumstances were more...ideal.”

Betty nods, trying to right herself so she doesn’t have to lean as heavily on Cheryl. She’s still limping, but the ache is starting to fade--though whether that is a good or a bad thing is still up in the air. “I’m sorry about Jason. I wish...I couldn’t have….and Polly....”

“Be quiet. Don’t talk about Jason, and don’t talk about Polly. I can’t have you going into a psychotic babble fit when I’m trying to convince Jones to let you stay. I need you coherent and ready to fight for yourself.”

“Okay. I promise I will.”

The town, Riverdale, is quieter than she expected it to be. Then again, the sun has nearly set, touches of purple still blotched against the late darkness of the evening. There are no lamp posts here, at least not ones that are on. In the City, there were always streetlights, things to keep the Diseased away while the police patrolled the area. Being out late at night was discouraged, but in the light, you could at least feel safe. Here, the only thing to keep you company were the stars, flickering beside a crescent moon.

The streets were empty. Every house they walked past was boarded up, windows shut tight and sealed from behind. There was no way in, at least from the looks of the outside. She suspected the doors were just as heavily bolted as the windows. It was a contrast from the pleasant early century farm home exterior. On any other day, in any other lighting, Betty might have thought this place popped right off the pages of the old Pre-Outbreak comics she used to sneak from the restricted section in the libraries, ones that painted the world as a glittering utopia of wholesome families values, where the walking dead were fictitious creatures to scare your children into going to bed on time.

“It’s curfew,” Cheryl explains, as though as she can read Betty’s thoughts. “The Serpents are strict about it. Only we’re allowed out past sunset, unless there’s an extreme circumstance and even then one of us is present at all times.”

“I take it Jughead Jones is the guy who leads the Serpents, then?”

She snorts, something so unladylike that if Penelope, her mother, could see her right now, Betty suspects she might combust. “He wishes. Currently, he’s defacto since his moonshine drunkard father has stumbled off into the wilderness as he does. Unless DILF Jones is around we listen to Jughead, because he always rolls over when his dad shows back up. Most days Jughead is the only one around to listen to.”

“Should I be nervous? That he doesn’t want me here, I mean. Cheryl, I don’t have any useful skills. Toni is right. I grew up in the City where my only contact with the Diseased until a few days ago had to do with teaching little kids to stay out of the sewer systems if they wanted to keep their limbs.”

It looks for a minute like Cheryl wants to say something sweet, something to calm Betty’s frazzled nerves, but it dies on the tip of her tongue. “Just be prepared, Cousin. This isn’t going to be pretty. It might almost be as terrible as brunch with Penelope Blossom and Alice Cooper.”

Her blood runs cold and the hopelessness creeps up again.

She can see something now, the crackle of fire close by. The warmth radiates from the strong blaze, bathing the dirt and gravel road in bright oranges and reds. It’s well contained even with the wind blowing and sending it bursting upwards in spirals. Surrounding the blaze is a group of men and women, all leather clad, all quiet. A few of them are whispering but the noise is drowned by the crackle of wood and the roar of heavy flames. Betty tries not to feel nervous as they approach and all eyes snap towards her. The newcomer. The outcast. The unknown.

Toni has reached it before them and she is talking quickly with someone. He’s tall, but not as tall as his friend on his left who wears brass knuckles Betty suspects are covered in blood and brains--living or Diseased, which she isn’t sure. He has an old knit whoopee cap on his head, with a few rusted pins and a hole that looks like used to be home to a button. He looks tired. Worn. Aged by years from the harsh reality he lives in. She suspects this is Jughead Jones, not just because of the heavy bags of leadership under his eyes, but from the way the others stay silent when he talks, eyes trained on him.

Betty stumbles over a branch and Cheryl lurches forward, barely managing to catch them both. The crunch reverberates throughout the eerie quiet, upwards until it bounces off the stars and lands right back at her feet. She can tell immediately the noise has upset a few of them and she has started off, quite literally, on the wrong foot.

“Causing trouble again, Cheryl?” The leader, Jughead, speaks quietly, but his voice still carries and it’s powerful enough to make her quake. This isn’t like the voice on the radio waves telling her everything is fine. This isn’t cheery and monotonous. No, it’s dark, cold, and tired, rugged and sleep deprived. It’s also, incredibly sexy, though that’s a troubling realization she files away as something to unwrap later. Though his voice is harsh, his eyes betray something like mirth.

“You know I like a little hell-raising, Jones. But right now I need you to meet my cousin, Betty,” the word lingers longer than it should. Family carries weight here, Betty realizes that quickly. Having Cheryl on her side might be the only thing that keeps her alive. “She’s a refugee from the City.”

“We decided this morning: no refugees.”

“ _ You  _ decided this morning and wouldn’t even let it go to a vote. I had no say in it.”

“If I remember correctly, it was you babbling in my ear about how dangerous it would be to let just anyone inside Riverdale when we don’t know when to expect the next trade shipment from the City, if it ever even comes with how fucked up their shit is right now. But suddenly you want exceptions.”

Cheryl’s eyes are narrowed, her voice hard and unwavering. “Betty isn’t just  _ anyone  _ she is my  _ only one _ , the only one left in my family now.”

Toni steps between them when she sees her wife itching for the bow. “Hey. Let’s all just calm down here. I’m not usually one to take sides between you two, but Jug, listen to Cheryl on this one. She’s one girl who said she was on the last bus here. No one else is coming, and if they do we’ll send them away. The girls got roots in Riverdale, says her mom grew up here. We could probably look into that if you want to waste Hermione’s time digging through old records to satiate your City vendetta.”

She can see he’s torn now, unsure of how to proceed. Does he back down and look a coward with loose rules, or push on and risk not only angering Cheryl, but jeopardizing another human beings life? But for Betty, this is a matter of her life, and she won’t sit idly by and let them all fight over if it’s best to throw her into the forest or snap her neck now and give her peace.

“I have this. If it means anything.” She pulls back her cardigan and pulls out the pendant of the necklace: a silver crown hanging from a silver chain.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” It seems she’s done the wrong thing, because now people are whispering and Jughead looks furious, his entire being painted in the crackling flames to their right. Suddenly the heat feels white hot. Suffocating.

She’s shaking now. Terrified and shaking. It’s been a long day, the hardest of her life. Not only has she left an entire world, everything she has ever known, but had hope snatched from her more times than she can count. This, however, feels like the last. She says a prayer to anyone who might be listening before she does her best to answer, “M-my mother--”

“Did you steal it?” He moves forward, his words too harsh, too loud for how late at night it is. “Did you scavenge it off his body? Are you with the Ghoulies?”

“What the  _ fuck  _ is your problem, Jones. I told you she’s my cousin! Not some fucking thieving garbage like the Ghoulies.”

“Where the hell did she get that necklace, Cheryl? It looks exactly like the one my dad wears. So tell me, if you didn’t pluck it off his dead body, where did you get it, because from my perspective that’s the only explanation.”

Before he can move any closer or lash out--it looks like he wants to grab the nearest object and toss it into the fire--there’s another crack of twigs. Everyone moves at once. Cheryl is in front of her, protecting her with her with the steady aim of her bow and arrow. A few of the other serpents have weapons raised: baseball bats with nails wedged into the wooden seems, impossibly long knives, sticks with blades on the end of them. Jughead is the only one with a gun. It makes sense, bullets are sparse even in City walls, she can’t image how difficult they are out here. But he’s pointed and poised to kill, like he’s done this his entire life.

He probably has.

Out from the bushes does not come the stumbling lazy movements and guttural moans of one of the Diseased, but instead, a man uneasy on his feet, stumbling with flushed cheeks and a smirk. He puts his hands up in defense. “I gave her that necklace, boy, so ease up or you’ll wake half the Uglies in the area.”

“Jesus Christ, Dad.” Jughead relaxes, but Betty takes notice that the gun is still pointed up towards the man’s head. “You can’t go sneaking around like you’re one of the living dead.”

Betty bites her tongue to keep from correcting him. Technically, the diseased are not dead. They aren’t particularly live either to be fair, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. The Disease does not kill the inhabitant but rather warps them into something only vague human, only mildly aware of its surroundings. Something that only cares about its hunger. It makes them slow, stupid, like pack animals. In some ways, it acts as a parasite. 

The most common way the Disease is passed is through the exchange of body fluids: a bite, a scratch, and, occasionally, from a few more unsavory members of society, through other means. It works fast--or it does not. At first, it had lied dormant, spreading to as many people as it could before bursting from the chrysalis and sending everything into chaos. Betty has never asked how it was her father was sick and her mother wasn’t. Perhaps that isn’t her business to know. Perhaps she’ll never want to know.

But there was hope for these creatures, at least enough to keep the City Council searching for cures, giving the people an outpouring of hope that they might soon one day be reunited with loved ones who had turned. Once upon a time, she had believed that fairytale. Now it was nothing but a check mark on the ever growing list of lies she had been told to be kept complacent and confined in her pristine prison walls, never knowing how difficult the world really was and the troubles that were all around them.

It’s better to not tell them, Betty thinks, that she knows these creatures aren’t dead, just sick. They might hate her more.

“What do you mean you gave it to her?” Jughead snaps and finally, the gun is slowly lowered. “And where the hell have you been, old man?”

“Doing patrols of my own. Making ‘shine. You know how useful that stuff is for wounds, pure alcohol to cut through the bacteria.”

“And your stomach lining.”

Their relationship is not an easy one, nor a particularly good one. It’s the same hostility and awkward admiration she experienced every day with her mother. They would fight, they would talk, they would reconcile and then the cycle would begin again.

The man stumbles a little, waving him off as he flops down near the fire with a groan. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Me?” Betty hates how quiet she is, how squeaky her voice sounds.

“No, the other blonde that wandered in unannounced. Yeah, kid, you. Last name wouldn’t happen to be Cooper, would it?”

“Betty Cooper. That’s my name, um, Sir.”

Toni snorts beside her. “Please, FP’s no Sir.”

FP either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care what one of his subordinates has said. He’s the King and his throne is made of empty bottles filled with liquor--and least that’s what the smell radiating off of him makes it seem like--hollow and shiny in the dusky night air. “And your mom’s name, Alice Cooper, right? Or maybe some of you folks know her as Alice Smith, rode with us until she got knocked up with her first baby and settled into suburbia. The family took off after Hal Cooper, that sonofabitch, tried to take your face off, right?”

“I...yes…” She winces. It’s not a pleasant memory, not one she thinks about often, and this is the second time today it’s been brought to the forefront of her mind. “My mom told me to bring this necklace to the Serpents because you would protect me. She said  _ He _ would protect me. I guess that he is you then.”

He nods, pulling out a flask from his pocket. Betty can see Jughead rolls his eyes and grit his teeth but he doesn’t dare speak. “I made that promise the day she left Riverdale. I told her if she ever needed anything she could call in that favor I owed her since we were in high school, before the whole world went to crap. I never expected her to do it, but I heard the City’s been having a rough time of it for the last few days, so I’m not surprised you’re here. I expected she’d come too.”

“You know Mom, she never likes to leave a project unfinished and I think that’s how she sees the City. My sister Polly is dead. Chic was on reserve with the police force and he was called back into the streets to help deal with the Diseased Outbreak. Mom has her seat and she wouldn’t leave, no matter how many times I asked her to. She wants to figure out how to fix this mess so I can come home. If I could ever go home, that is. I don’t think I’ll be able to though, not with how things were. It was chaos. They shut down all the bus lines except the last one and they kept promising everything was okay, just saying it again and again over the loudspeakers when everyone knew it wasn’t okay, except for the people so brainwashed or desperate to believe they would take anything the Council fed them.”

FP just nods, taking another sip of whatever is in his flask as he watches the fire. It’s starting to die, just a little, so he picks up a log and tosses it inside. The Diseased hate fire more than anything, so even if a few did break it through the barbed wire walls of Riverdale they would be hard pressed to follow the sounds towards them.

Finally, he turns towards Jughead. “You get all that boy?”

“I did.”

“Change your mind, yet?”

“Dad, this is a terrible idea. If we let one refugee in we’ll have to start letting whatever one’s come our way in. That’s inherently dangerous. Any of them could be Ghoulies in disguise, for a start. We don’t know if they’re infected. Hell, we don’t know if she’s infected. This is a mistake and you could be putting all of Riverdale in danger tonight if you let this happen.”

“Fine. Where would you put her?” For this, Jughead does not have an answer. FP raises an eyebrow. “Come on, boy, I’m waiting. Would you toss her back to the City, a place that won’t let her in, or send her out to Greendale with the Witches? They’re stricter than you are on letting people in. The only other option is to send her over the wall and let her die. That blood is on your hands. Besides, Alice Cooper would get whiff of it and come destroy us all with her bare hands. That’s a storm you don't want to face and a smear you don’t want on your conscious.”

“Please.” Betty doesn’t know where she gets the strength to speak, not when she’s tired and hurting and feels like at any moment the world might crack open and swallow her hole. She’s crying again and Cheryl has a comforting arm on her shoulder. “Please, I don’t want to die. Please.”

For once, she’s said the right thing. The hardened exterior of Jughead Jones breaks and she sees his eyes soften, his body slack, his lips curved down into a frown that isn’t at her, but instead himself.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, she can stay.”

“Perfect. She’s staying with you, boy.”

Jughead’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me? Staying with me? You’re the one that owes her mother a favor! And Cheryl’s her cousin.”

“Cheryl lives with her wife,” Toni speaks up and her tone sounds teasing, cutting through the thickness in the air, “Not really sure that would be a great situation for the poor City Princess to have to deal with. You’re a self-imposed chaste hermit. Nowhere better for someone like her to be.”

The tallest man--well the second tallest man, or maybe he’s the tallest boy, Betty isn’t sure at this point, but he has black hair and a snake tattooed on his neck so she’s immediately intimidated--starts to laugh and nudges Jughead. “That would be the only way you’d get laid.”

“Hey Sweet Pea, want to try opening your mouth again before I break your legs and put you on Farm duty for the rest of the month?”

Whatever Farm duty is, the mere mention of it gets the man to shut up, looking down at his friend with a glare. Another man, this one decidedly shorter, looks at the exchanged with an amused grin. He knows better than to speak. It certainly doesn’t keep him from laughing to himself.

“You’re off duty tonight, and my trailer isn’t the safest place in the world for someone who doesn’t know how to take care of themself. That little house you live in is the safest place for her to be tonight and you know it.”

“Dad I--”

The look FP gives him cuts off all other conversation on the matter. Jughead grits his teeth and takes a shaky breath to calm himself. Betty watches him reach into his pocket and pull out an empty carton, something that used to be filled with cigarettes but isn’t anymore. Lots of things used to be filled. Almost everything is empty now.

He looks down into the package like he’s willing it to spawn something new, before sighing and tossing it into the fire. The flames spike once at the new addition and she watches it crackle into nothingness, the camel on the paper curling back until it turns black and flakes away. Chic smokes those sometimes. Cigarettes aren’t cheap, but occasionally her mother would ration enough of their money to let him splurge to help keep him relaxed. Out here, he doubts anyone has that luxury.

“Fine. Here’s how it’s going to shake out tonight. Sweet Pea, Fangs, you’re at Andrews and Residential tonight. Tall Boy, Farm Duty. Cheryl and Toni are on border patrol. Joaquin, you’re going to be market with Hog Eye.” He goes on, but Betty can only half pay attention. The eeriness has started to settle in.

The Skyline back in the City was nothing like this. The mile high buildings, covered in billboards and propaganda posters, never really let her see the stars. It always felt claustrophobic, but safe in its tightness. Here, everything was so open. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Riverdale wears its truth, its fight, its prosperity in times of strife proudly for everyone to see.

She’s startled out of her thoughts when Cheryl pulls her in for a quick hug and a kiss, leaving a smear of cherry lipstick on her cheeks. She doesn’t bother to ask where she gets it. Maybe there are lots of things better left unasked. “Don’t mind Jughead too much, cousin, he’s just been in a foul mood these last few days. If he even breaths wrong you’ll tell me and I’ll put an arrow right between his eyes, he knows I will.”

“I have no doubt. Thank you, Cheryl, really. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” She’s clinging onto her tightly still, scared of losing the one tether she has to anything remotely familiar. The second her fingertips leave the warm red leather it’s gone, she’s on her own in a world that wants her dead.

“I promise. Try and sleep tonight, you look like hell.”

Toni takes Cheryl’s hands and they walk away, whispering about something she doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to. Cautiously, Betty turns to where Jughead is standing, still by the fire, still painted in flames while the rest of the Serpents scatter about. She doesn’t say anything. She just watches as the soft glow illuminates his cheekbones and the crispness of his jawline. His eyes are hollow, but not quite empty--endless pools of cerulean she could see herself getting lost in. He flutters his eyelashes, far too long it’s almost unfair, and brings his palm to rub circles in the tired skin.

Aware she’s staring, Betty looks away, trying to ignore how awkward this all is. Finally, he stands and offers her his arm. “I saw you leaning on Cheryl, you obviously can’t stand well on your own right now. I have things to take care of that back at my place, but we have to get there soon so we can lock up. Nothing usually gets in, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Don’t talk, don’t whimper. Make as little noise as possible until we get inside and lock the door, understood?”

She nods, biting back a pained hiss as she adjusts her gait to try and match his quick speed. The walk is silent aside from the occasional crunch of leaves and tick of pebbles against his boots. Eventually, they come to a little house--small, with beige paint chipped off the side paneling. It’s boarded up just like all the others, with no natural light allowed inside. The door is painted red and she wants to ask why but she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t dare speak, not until she’s inside and the door is shut and locked.

She doesn’t speak when he digs around in the drawers of what she thinks is a kitchen. It all blends together into practically a single room. The old stained couches that are outdated, stuffing poking out of the broken seams of decades worn grey fabric. She sees him produce a match, striking it twice against the side of the box before lighting a candle. He lights a few more after that.

It feels like something out of Dracula, just as spooky, just as dark, just as properly terrifying. Back home, they had lights, electricity, powered and saved from the sun and solar banks, that would keep whatever they needed on running throughout the night. It’s another luxury she will no longer have. Her life is not illuminated in fluorescent but instead bathed in a dreary inconsistent glow of a few lonely candles.

They still don’t speak, not as he opens another drawer and pulls out a box. She whimpers when he sits her down and pulls off her shoes. They were too tight, she knew that putting them on, but this morning had been such a whirlwind she had hardly thought about it. At least there were a few more in her bag--much more practical, much more comfortable. There were some spots the socks were sticking to her skin, no doubt thanks to the cracked blisters on her feet, rubbed raw from the walk.

What shocks her most is how gentle Jughead is. For someone who had moments ago been almost willing to throw her to the wolves, he treats her like she’s made of porcelain, wiping the sterile alcohol pad along her cuts with care. When she twitches in discomfort, he lets out something she might almost call a comforting coo if it was coming from anyone’s lips but his. He wraps the parts of her foot that need it most in cloth before moving to the next one and repeating his process. 

His hands have calluses on them. It’s mostly his palms, but a few on his fingers let her know the gun he pulled earlier today was not just for show. There were things that looked down the barrel and never opening their eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice startles her, nearly jumping back and causing the bindings he’s putting on her feet to pull a little too tight. “W-what?”

“I’m sorry, for earlier, when I tried to kill you. Kind of. When I tried to get you sent into the woods. I wasn’t thinking, but honestly, Betty, I don’t trust you. I’m glad my dad does, but I don’t, not until I know a little bit more about you and the world you come from. Cityfolk, I don’t exactly have much of a reason to trust them.”

Betty nods, wiggling her toes. They’re painted, at least they were before all the walking rubbed the golden glitter coat away. Polly had done them for her a few days ago as a way to relax. Her throat feels raw and the tears threaten to spill again. If Jughead notices the few she can’t bite back, he, graciously, doesn’t say anything.

“It’s okay.” She says once she’s found her voice again. “I wouldn’t trust me either. You have every right to be careful. You’re protecting your people and I’m not one of those people. Maybe one day I can be, but for now, I’m just some interloper in Riverdale. I don’t blame you, but I’m glad you didn’t just go and let me die. I...I want to be alive.”

“We all do, Betty, which makes it even less fair that I did what I did to you. But thank you for understanding. Most people don’t get how my brain works.” He flashes her something she thinks is a smile. It’s quick and the lighting is so bad it could just have easily been a grimace, but she finds it easier to relax now.

“You have other shoes, right? Because these ones are garbage. Not just because they’re covered in blood, but they have no support in them. You wore flats to a zombie apocalypse, Betty.  _ Flats _ . I don’t know if that’s incredibly bold or incredibly stupid. I’m tempted to say both.”

That makes her laugh. It’s quiet and shy, but it’s genuine, and the first time she’s done it since Jason stumbled through their door covered in bites with hopelessness in his eyes. “I do. I didn’t think before I left the house. There wasn’t really time. I have tennis shoes I’ll wear tomorrow and probably forever, I guess. Speaking of, is there a place to change? I want to wear something warm.”

He nods and points to the back. “There’s a bathroom back there. We have running water, for now, City run, but who knows how much longer that’ll be, so enjoy it while we can. Hopefully, your people get things figured out soon so I don’t have to worry about what we’ll do without our monthly shipment coming in. The townships rely a lot on those refined materials we get. Ethel can make blankets, but no one can make gas for the generators and stupid fucking bureaucracy won’t tell us how to get fucking solar panels up and running without a permit. Where the fuck are we going to get that permit now? The clerk filing it probably doesn’t even have her brains anymore.”

Betty feels sick and stands, pointing to the bathroom. “I’m going to change.”

When she brushes past him, it almost looks like he feels bad for what he’s said, but he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t even open his mouth. She lets herself do as he said and indulge in the running water. She splashes her face and lets the cool night air dry her skin. The skin of her palm stings in the open air. Betty picks the last of the dirt from it, changing her clothes into the warmth of her favorite pajamas before daring to exit the bathroom again.

Jughead is sitting in the living room on the sofa, wrapping a cut on his arm she hadn’t noticed was there. She looks down at her palms and frowns. “Could you...can you wrap my hands too? I cut them on the barbed wire fence.”

“Yeah, don’t touch that. Sometimes Fangs goes and rubs poison on it, from plants he finds that Toni is pretty sure are deadly. We don’t know for sure, just be careful from now on.”

He’s just as gentle now as he was with her feet, maybe even more so. But now, she can feel him differently, can feel the curve of his fingers and the gentle bumps of scars on his hands. She can feel the warmth as it radiates from them. Betty doesn’t know why, but she’s sure she’s blushing.

“There. Better?”

She nods, running a hand through her hair. It’s ratting and a mess and she hopes she remembered to pack a brush because she doubts Jughead has one lying around. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Welcome. So, here’s the thing. There’s one bed. I’ve only got one. Technically two bedrooms, but only one bed because it was just impractical to get a different one. And frankly, I don’t really want to change that. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing so it’s better if we sleep in the same room. I can sleep on the floor, or something, if it’ll make you more comfortable, but I’m not leaving the room.”

Oh. It’s a strange thought. Betty’s shared beds before, in the City, though that was usually with men she knew and men that knew her and what she looked like underneath the soft fuzzy pajamas and cotton underwear. She wonders what it’s like out here, if morals are loose and wild, or if they’re stricter, more rigid than the City, where dancing from one partner to the next was a simple way of celebrating life and the safety inside their walls.

“No. Sleep in bed with me, I don’t mind. I trust you to keep your hands to yourself. And if you can’t, well I’ve been told I make an amazing teddy bear.”

It’s her vain attempt at humor and, surprisingly, it gets a laugh out of him. It’s short, gruff, and over all too quickly. She hopes she’ll hear it again. “We’ll see, I don’t really think I’m much of a cuddler.”

“Everyone is a cuddler once they find the right thing to cuddle. Those are just facts. Maybe I’ll change your mind tonight.”

“I doubt it, Betty. Come on. It’s my one night off patrols and I’m going to sleep like the dead. Or maybe not, since those bastards keep getting up in the middle of the night.”

She bites her tongue and doesn’t say it. She supposes that it really doesn’t matter if they’re actually dead or not; they’re threats all the same and if it makes it easier to think of them as dead then who is she to take away that comfort.

Crawling into bed is awkward. Extremely awkward, though, incredibly, miraculously, not the most awkward thing she has ever done. Jughead is trying to press himself against the wall to be as far away from her as possible. Maybe it’s to give her room, or maybe it’s because he simply just doesn’t want to be near her. It’s sweet, or maybe it’s offensive--she can’t decide which. There is a lot of wiggling and quick maneuvers that take place. Eventually, they find themselves in a tolerable position, where her bandaged feet brush against the soft flannel of his own pajama bottoms and they’re facing away from each other to avoid any uncomfortable eye contact that might occur.

“Goodnight, Jughead.” She whispers it into the air once she hears his breathing steady, not expecting an answer and not even sure if she wants one.

His voice is quiet, nearly inaudible, but is a comfort all the same. She won’t be alone tonight. She’ll be safe. “Goodnight, Betty. Sleep well.”

Surprisingly, she does.


	2. A Bump in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like....don't know what came over me while writing this chapter, but here we are, with almost 15k words in a single entity. I just want to thank all of you who sit and read this lengthy monstrosity. I'm genuinely in awe over how much support this fic has gotten, since writing it I knew that zombies aren't a well loved trope in fiction. I want to say god bless @theonlyemmaleigh for reading all of this in a timely manner. Like. My girl. I owe you everything.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy <3 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: gun use, talk of blood, a surprising amount of fluff

It was instinct, to wake up before the dawn and wait for the groans outside to dissipate as the Diseased slunk back into their forgotten, underground refuges and until the sun sunk below the horizon again, bringing nightfall upon them once again. Even in The City, with the police officer prowling the streets, it was safer to stay inside until there was no chance of the creatures catching your ankles and dragging you down with them. Betty used to make coffee in the early morning and wait up for Chic to return home while both Polly and her mother were fast asleep. He would recount to her whatever oddities he had come across that night before shuffling upstairs the same time Polly came down so he could get some well-deserved rest.

After coffee, the radio would crackle to life and play the morning news. Two familiar anchors would chat away about the Council and all the good they were doing working hard in their top-secret laboratories at finding a cure for the poor folks suffering in the sewers. (Always “folks,” never “monsters” or “things,” anything to cling to humanity even for the Diseased.) The two sisters would huddle around with their sugary breakfast cereals they were only supposed to have as a treat until Alice came down and turned the radio dial to end the stream with a click, ushering them out the door to the waiting fluorescent yellow school bus. Her classes would be filled with mundane lectures. Occasionally, a rebelling English professor would pull out a book from the forbidden section, dating before the First Outbreak. Those were some of Betty’s absolute favorites. Not many copies of the classics were still circulating around, but she had collected a fair few of them back in her home.

She had left them there, the books, unable to pull but two from the shelves to stuff in her bag before her mother kicked her out the same way she had in the early morning hours before school.

Betty isn’t sure there’s a reason to be waking up as early as she is without the alarm clock or her mother’s shrill voice to remind her she has somewhere to be—except for the loud metal clanking she hears that rips her from the soft embrace of sleep. It takes her a minute to remember where she is: in a stranger’s bed, in a stranger’s house, in a stranger’s town. The empty space beside her is still warm from where the handsome stranger had been the night before.

The memories of the night before slowly wiggle their way to her subconscious and she’s all too aware of the midnight eyes and careful curls that had slept beside her all night. Had she not been on the brink of collapse, it might have been difficult to sleep with someone she didn’t know beside her. Especially one that had wanted her dead.

But then again, Jughead—because, yes that was his name, his silly ridiculous name that only now she allowed herself to laugh at—had touched her so tenderly when he had dressed her wounds and made sure she was comfortable. He was such a stark contrast from his father, the true leader of the Serpents, though apparently absentee at the best of times. FP Jones had given her refuge when the other had wanted her gone, but Jughead was the one to guide into comfort, even if it was begrudgingly.

Her hands and feet still tingle from where he had touched her. It’s like a phantom is ghosting over her skin. A shiver runs down her spine as Betty finally pulls herself out of bed, resisting the urge to drag the bedspread into the hallway with her, like a child on Christmas investigating any noise they think might be Santa Claus, the man who braved the Diseased to offer presents to boys and girls and keep their spirits bright. A myth, of course, like many things used to tame the children of The City, but one that apparently had its origins before the First Outbreak. Even her mother knew of jolly St. Nick, though hers had been much less praised for hazardous late-night toy hauls and more for his magical joyfulness and red-nosed reindeer. 

Betty sneaks out into the hallway, ignoring the coldness of the wood against her feet, and peaked out into the living room/kitchen combination. She sees Jughead fiddling around the room, opening cabinets that hold various utensils. A few pots and pans clank together and he curses in frustration before opening the door to the refrigerator and peering inside.

There’s no familiar little whirl of machinery, so she doubts the contraption works as anything more than a place to store things in a cabin that was built before the First Outbreak, during a time where it wasn’t a City luxury to have cold fruits and meats on the ready. It hadn’t occurred to her before now how much her dietary habits were likely to change upon moving to Riverdale. No more breakfast parfaits and pasteurized eggs. Everything would be fresh from the earth and the people who grew it weren’t more than a few feet away at all times. She wondered how it was the community worked. There was so much of this place she was going to have to learn, and quickly.

“I can feel you staring.”

His voice surprises her and she jumps back, biting her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. He isn’t looking at her, still staring inside the white box she can’t get a good look into. He frowns. “I was going to make us breakfast, but we’re out of eggs.”

“Oh,” she says lamely. It’s the best she can do right now, other than wiggle her toes and stare down at them. “Well, how do we get them?”

She can tell by the glint in his eye and the curve of his lips that he’s laughing at her now, or trying to suppress one and doing a horrible job at it. Betty dares to smile too. A Jughead who’s laughing at her is much better than the one from last night, who had been ready to throw her back outside the wall and into the grasp of a million hungry Diseased had it not been for the intervention of his father and the recognition of a necklace. Absently, she reaches out to touch the pendant, worrying it between her fingers like it has some healing effects that might calm her nerves.

Finally, Jughead answers. “We go to the Market, Betty, Riverdale’s greatest treasure. Go get dressed, I’ll show you.”

Getting dressed is not all she has to do before they can leave apparently. There’s a process, a ritual even, that Jughead follows. She changes into clothes that only sort of match, but are comfortable and practical enough for all the walking he claims they’re going to be doing. He has her sit down so he can unwrap her foot to make sure everything looks good still. The cloth sticks to the broken blisters on her feet and she hisses when they’re peeled away. From somewhere and nowhere he procures a little flask filled with clear liquid.

“Alcohol,” he explains, uncorking the bottle and twisting her foot to the side so he can get a better angle. “My dad wasn’t wrong, it’s useful that he makes moonshine, just not the for the reasons he uses it. This is going to burn so don’t kick me.”

She’s nodding, but then he’s pouring drops on her wounds and it feels like fire and she has to bite her tongue to keep from flailing away from his touch. It’s important, what he’s doing, to help fight against any infections. She’s useless without her feet. That doesn’t make this process any less painful.

Just like last night, Jughead is careful with her. They can’t spare new dressings for her hands, which only have a few splattered drops of blood on the pristine white cloth, but the dried pus should not be put back on her feet. He throws them into a small bag near his side, filled with other things that look like they might need to be washed. Back in the City, that was something you could pay people to do. If you didn’t want to waste precious daylight hours with your fingers soaked in hot water and bubbles, there was a laundromat who took your things and had them cleaned by the end of the week. Her mother was a frequent customer.

The contrast is startling. Betty realizes how bathed in luxury she has always been. Breakfast was a given, no need to go to some strange place called the Market to pick up necessities. Before there was someone else to wash her things and make sure the fridge was stalked. The Diseased were nothing more than conceptual boogeymen. Here. Now. In Riverdale, this is not her reality any longer. Another pop of the cork and another hiss against her skin. As a distraction, Betty lets her mind wander to what sort of things might be at the Market.

“Everything the people of Riverdale make goes to the Market.” When his answer comes, she blushes, trying to figure out how to swallow her tongue to keep from any more of her intrusive thoughts from slipping out accidentally. “The crops that don’t get sent out to the City, or traded with Midville and Greendale, two other townships close by we have a good relationship with, are here to buy. Maybe buy isn’t a good word. It’s an exchange for the most part. No point in carrying around waded up bills and coins when it’s quicker to get what we want from each other.”

“Reciprocity. You help someone out, they help you out, maybe not now but eventually. What sort of things does Riverdale make?”

“Maple syrup. People love it and the City will trade just about anything for it. It’s about the only sweet thing we have too. Sometimes we get refined sugar in our shipments, but it’s rare so we make do. Eggs from chicken coops. Some meats, but those are expensive because the Diseased love to chew on cows. The Serpents do the best we can but sometimes a few will sink their teeth in and we’ve got deceased bovine on our hands. Some people sell apples, cherries, berries, potatoes--things like that. But also other necessities. A girl named Ethel Muggs makes clothes, especially using wool for winter time. Riverdale is a lot more self-sufficient than you city folk like to think I’m sure.”

He isn’t lying. The City and its inhabitants have never looked too kindly on those living outside the walls. Even growing up she was filled with prejudice for those too unfortunate to not feel the safety of their fluorescent street lights. She remembers being horrified the first time someone told her they didn’t have ice cream shops in the City Townships and tried to get on the bus with a bucket of Neapolitan cream to hand it. She would have made it there too, if her mother and Chic hadn’t stopped her on the corner of fourth after the bus driver ratted her out.

“I’m excited,” she says softly. “To learn more about Riverdale. I believe you when you say that your people are amazing. I saw it last night and I bet I’ll see it more today. I know… Jughead, I know you don’t want me here but I’m going to prove it to you and everyone else that I belong here and I will do anything to stay. I’ll figure something out. I’m sure I have a talent hidden somewhere.” A nervous laugh bubbles out of her throat, frantic, nearly desperation, but her words are genuine and she hopes they come across that way. “I’ve never farmed before, but I could try it. I’ve fixed hems on things and I used to wash clothes when my sister got too lazy to take them to the laundromat. I can be useful. Just give me the chance to show you.”

He’s quiet for an uncomfortably long time, before finally nodding. He ties off her bandage and stands before offering his hand to help her get back to her feet. “I will do my best to stay open-minded. You’re here now and I have to deal with that. Honestly, I’m not sure I could have lived with myself if I had made you go back out there to die. I’m not that kind of person. But I don’t trust you. I’m not sure when I will but for now, I don’t.”

“I’m okay with that. I’ll make you trust me.”

The smile he gives her is almost warm and makes her heart flutter the same way it did when she watched him by the bonfire last night. She dares to smile back when he says, “I look forward to it.”

They walk in relative silence, nothing but the crunch of debris under her flats to break up the monotony of the walk. He’s patient with her slowness. With every step, she feels a sharp pain in her feet as the fabric of her shoes rubs against the open and raw skin. When she stumbles, Jughead catches her with ease, helping her right herself before they start walking again.

Eventually, she sees it, the Market looming off in the distance. It’s not the deserted courtyard she had seen upon her arrival now. It’s filled with noise, bustling and rustling as goods are exchanged and people haggle over prices. One woman shouts about a yam before tossing it in her bag and begrudgingly handing over a small woven wicker basket of eggs. A few dogs cut through the area, chasing after each other and nearly tripping her. The white one is huge and strong-a sheepdog who immediately stops in its tracks and scratches at Jughead’s legs. She half expects him to boil over with rage, but instead, he smiles and kneels down, letting the animal slobber all over his face.

“Easy boy, easy. Betty, this is Hot Dog. He saved my life once.” The dog barks, licking him again. “Okay, okay. More than once. He’s one of Riverdale’s honorary Serpents and has probably taken out more Diseased than I have. Want a treat boy?”

Hot Dog barks and circles his legs before going to over to Betty and nuzzling her hand. Dogs are rare in the City; the Council always claims they’re carriers, capable of spreading the disease without letting it morph their own bodies into grotesque reflections of humanity. It’s strange to be so close to one without fear. Her instincts tell her to run, but she trusts the community that’s given her refuge. If Jughead says Hot Dog is nothing short of an aggressive ball of fluff, then she is inclined to believe him.

He follows them, tail wagging, tongue lagging to the side as he pants, until they reach the specific stall Jughead’s been looking for. Like most of them, it has a canopy overhead, made from pieced together cloth, a mismatched menagerie of blankets to keep the early morning sun from baking the various foods laid out on the table. The old man behind the table rocks in his chair, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. His face is like tanned leather, deep wrinkles etched into his skin, a product of being from the times before. Creases by his eyes speak of lighter days, filled with laughter when he wasn’t tucked under the shade of a shoddy gazebo stingy with his wares and he could light as many cigarettes as he wanted without the fear of running out always looming overhead. He doesn’t say anything as either of them approach, only glancing up at them briefly. It’s unnerving, but she takes her social cues from Jughead, who seems unperturbed by the silence and begins browsing.

There are a few packages tied with brown string, letters she can barely making out by squinting scratched with black ink on the parchment. A bucket of shiny red apples catches her eye and she reaches out to take one. Betty stops just short, unsure of Market etiquette. They had grocery shops in the City, places where young people like her calculated prices and you paid with paper bills, not favors and chickens. She realizes she has nothing a man like him could be interested in. The money in her pockets, the coins she always keeps in case of emergency bus fare, is utterly useless to her here in Riverdale. 

And maybe she is too.

“Grab a few,” Jughead instructs, finally picking up the package he wants. “We need more food in the cabin and apples don’t go bad for awhile.”

Betty beams and picks out a few of the shiniest apples in the bucket to take home. It feels strange, domestic almost, especially given the circumstances of her living arrangements and the vague discomfort her housemate regards her with. She really can’t blame him when she was the one who barged into his life unannounced, begging for refuge with nothing but familial Serpent ties and a Pre-Outbreak birth certificate that just so happened to list her hometown as Riverdale.

The fruit nearly tumbles out her arms as she works to keep them balanced. Jughead watches her fumble for a few minutes before unfurling a small bag and opening it up for her. Grateful, she sets them in one by one. He doesn’t put the paper bundle in there yet, not until after he pulls out a strip of dried meat and tosses it to the mutt still trailing behind them. Betty laughs when Hot Dog jumps up and catches it in his teeth. Jughead steals a piece for himself and then holds it out to her. She hesitantly reaches for one.

It’s tough to chew through, but her growling stomach relishes at the thought of something edible finally on her tongue. She’s not sure if she likes the taste, it’s got a bite to it, burning the roof of her mouth in a not entirely unpleasant sensation. Jughead gauges her reaction and whatever facial expression she’s making seems to satisfy him as he turns back to the man in the straw hat. “How much?”

“You know I don’t take a thing from you.” The man shakes his head, mirth dancing in his eyes, the corners of his weary lips turning up in a grin. “Not after what you did to help me out.”

“It’s what the Serpents do, Mr. Carol. Without your animals, we don’t really have a lot of meat around Riverdale. Besides, it wasn’t a lot of work to put the shock fence up to keep those fuckers at bay. Sweet Pea was just glad we finally let him tap into the grid a little bit.”

There’s a lot of respect for the Serpents here in Riverdale, Betty can see it in the old man’s eyes as he stares down Jughead. Some of the reverence comes from their place, their role as protectors, but most of it comes from the people. They’re good, determined, willing and ready to help keep their town, their own, their community as comfortable as possible. There’s no City luxuries out here. Just a group of used-to-be bikers turned militia.

Mr. Carol doesn’t say anything else about payment, and he doesn’t let Jughead so much as utter the word again as he turns to face Betty. His gaze is harsh now, colder than it was—not that she can blame him. She’s an interloper here in a town where everyone knows everyone and trust is as vital to survival as the crops he grows and the meat he cuts.

“Have you thought about turning the apples into preserves.” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it. Maybe her mind is on autopilot, desperate to prove to this man that the judgment on the tip of his tongue might be true but she’s going to change. “With the maple syrup. For something sweet.”

Mr. Carol nods slowly. “Sometimes I sell apples to Mrs. Andrews and she cans them. You’re new here.”

He can tell. Of course, he can tell. Suddenly, she’s self-conscious, feeling all the curious looks and glances the people in the Market are giving her. The whispers are louder, all tuned in on her—the outsider invading their home. It makes the acid in her stomach churn unpleasantly and all she can do is nod in response.

“The City.” It isn’t a question. She doubts anyone really wonders where she could have come from. Everything gives her away. Her clothes. Her hair. The shoes on her feet. None of it is like theirs. She’s a weed growing in the crack of the payment and she’s sure there are people itching for any reason to pluck her out. One of them might just be standing beside her. She nods again. “Be careful.”

The warning is vague but Betty understands it all the same. Be careful here, of the Diseased, of the people who won’t trust her no matter how hard she tries to prove her worth. She can’t finish the jerky in her hand and tosses it down for Hot Dog to enjoy.

They walk in silence. When Jughead stops to pick up a few things from other stalls, Betty hangs back, as far out of sight as she can be while still orbiting the space of her protector. He hates her and yet she’s bound to him, the only source of comfort she’s found aside from her cousin who she hasn’t seen since the night before.

Surprisingly, the walk doesn’t end when they pass the final stand—a woman selling knit blankets and carefully spun wool. There’s a lavender one that catches her eye longer than it should and she has to jog to catch up to Jughead’s impossibly long strides. He makes a sharp turn through a crowded alleyway and suddenly they’re out front of an old brick house. The shutters are closed tight, boarded up like all the other ones, but there’s a glow peeking through the cracks and the rustle of activity from inside, before the door bursts open and out comes a boy no more than three years old.

His brown hair is unruly, sticking up in all directions like someone had spent the better part of the day trying to keep it tamed. There are freckles smattering his rosy cheeks as he shakily makes his way down the steps. He has dimples, a little button nose, and hands covered in something that looks like it might be jam. Jughead can see it too, but it’s too late to stop when those sticky fingers latch onto his pant leg.

“Uncle Juggie!” the little boy shouts, shirtless and messy. “Up!”

“Wyatt Andrews!” The little house produces someone else, a woman with midnight hair and heels that Betty recognizes from a shop in the City limits. She had always envied them on the mannequins’ feet and it’s startling to see them out here in Riverdale. “I don’t care how excited you are to see Jughead, you can’t just go running out the door covered in applesauce!”

Before her tirade can continue, a look of realization dawns on her delicate features and her eyes trail up and down every inch of the new girl before her. Betty feels scrutinized, though not like she had been in the Market, especially when a grin stretches across her features and she extends her hand. “Veronica Andrews. You’re new.”

It’s an observation she’s only gotten twice, at least verbally, but already it’s starting to rub her as raw as the soles of her shoes. But she puts on her City smile—the one Alice Cooper made her practice before Council dinners her children were forced to attend—and shakes her outstretched hand. She notices a ring on one of Veronica’s fingers, a small diamond in a notch of gold. Not many people out here wear jewelry, at least that she’s noticed.

“I am. Betty Cooper. I’m from—”

“The City. I assume your mother is Councilwoman Cooper? My mother, Hermione Lodge, is the mayor of Riverdale. I’ve been to the City once or twice. I’m sorry, about everything that’s happening. Are you the only person that fled?” her voice is sincere in its sweetness, a surprise to say the least.

“I… yes and no. Our bus broke down on the way here. I don’t…” that sickness is back, the acid nipping at her stomach walls, and she regrets throwing the jerky away. It might have helped steady her nerves if nothing else. “I don’t know what happened to them. I’m sure they were picked up and made it back.”

It’s a lie. She knows that no one came, not with the lockdown being as hard as it was. She hopes they’re alive, but she’s sure they aren’t. A vision of the gaunt-looking woman, eyes yellowed and glassy, teeth snarled and covered in blood creeps- to the forefront of her mind and she tries not to be sick on Veronica’s front lawn, not when she’s been so hospitable.

Betty tries to focus anywhere else. She notices toys scattered on the lawn, but they’re not like the ones her children played with back in the city. They’re made of wood, some of the surface of the little truck uneven as if carved out by hand in a hurry. A blanket is sprawled out across the dying grass. Apples are piled high in the corners, peaches too, and glass cans are lined up empty and waiting to be filled.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica’s voice is soft and she places a gentle hand on her new friend’s shoulder, squeezing once. “This is my son, Wyatt and he’s a monster like his dad is.”

“Where is Archie anyway?” Jughead speaks up for the first time, pushing back the little boy’s sticky fingers from his hat. It’s nothing more than a game for the boy who fights desperately to back with giggles and flails of his arms.

Veronica points back at the house. “Inside helping Fred out of the bath. We needed to clean out the stitches today. Tell Toni thank you again for us and she better make room in her pantry for my next batch of jam. She gets first pick and I know Cheryl is more than willing to claw out someone’s eyes for my the signature maple-apple blend.”

“I’ll tell her. But you know that’s her job. She’d do it for anyone. She was probably just more meticulous on Fred. Wyatt, you can’t have my hat, especially not with those sticky little fingers. Let’s go inside and get you washed off.”

The little boy pouts and tries to wiggle away, but his uncle holds him tight in his arms and walks up the steps to the front porch. Veronica gestures for Betty to follow, talking a million miles a minute about things she can hardly keep up with. She’s like the City people in a lot of ways and the homesick feeling is pushed away to the back of her mind for a few more hours.

The Andrews home is quaint, sweet, filled with little knick-knacks and bobbles. It’s a stark contrast from the emptiness of Jughead’s cabin and Betty can feel the warmth that radiates from every wooden cabinet. There’s a fireplace tucked into the back wall, a rocking chair and a plaid blanket thrown over the top that looks well used has been placed beside it. Wyatt’s hands are dipped under the sink to scrub away the leftover goo. The little boy listens when his mother reminds him to scrub under his fingernails and Jughead lifts him a little higher so his hips aren’t pressed into the sink.

It’s a strange juxtaposition. Last night, Jughead had been hard and unapproachable, borderline terrifying when he’d started to yell. And now here he is, soft, gentle, holding the boy like he’s a treasured thing and daring to smile at him unreserved. She hears him whisper something, barely catching a few sounds, but whatever it is makes Wyatt giggle and kick his little legs. Once the washing is done his uncle tosses him once in the air and places a kiss to his freckled nose.

“My husband built the house,” Veronica explains, gesturing around. “It’s amazing right?”

Jughead rolls his eyes and corrects her, “Your husband builds all the houses. The Andrews are the lifeblood of Riverdale. You need a handyman and it’ll be them that comes to the rescue. If a,” he stops short and looks down at Wyatt’s chubby cheeks, “if one of the Night Monsters ruins any infrastructure it’s usually one of them that gets a call. Andrews Construction was around before the First Outbreak, so it’s always been a stable, but after they’re more vital than ever to keep things running. Sometimes the Diseased are destructive, or the Ghoulies will try for a raid and we need someone to patch the defenses.”

“Jug...you don’t have to do that.” It’s surprising, to hear Veronica’s voice be so soft. “He’ll have to learn one day.”

“Maybe. But there’s nothing wrong with innocence while you can keep it. Come on little guy, let’s go check on Daddy and Grandpa, yeah? I want to see how Fred’s wounds are doing.”

Betty watches as they go upstairs and it suddenly dawns on her the strangeness of it all. Wyatt is the only little boy she’s seen, the only child in a town of likely hundreds. She would have thought there would be a few running through the Market at the very least, holding their own toy exchanges, playing in the early morning light. In the City, you couldn’t go two feet without hearing the little bells of laughter in the air. They would play it on the radio sometimes, interviews from kids talking all about what they had learned at school or thanking the police force and the Council for helping build their homes. It had been part of her every day to be surrounded by children. 

“It’s only Wyatt.” Veronica says. Maybe everyone in this town can read her mind, or maybe she’s run into the few people who are exceptionally perceptive. “If that’s what you’re wondering. When I got pregnant, Riverdale nearly rioted. It was like this giant split happened and we almost had anarchy. Even my mom couldn’t get  them to calm down. It got so bad Archie and I debated moving to the City, but without him and his dad around, this place would collapse. The Serpents know that, so they were on my side, but even a few of them had their reservations about a child. They’d never say that, at least not to my face, but I can feel the animosity if I even dare step foot into the Wyrm.”

“Why are they so upset with you? Kids are a blessing. Seeing him… I felt better for the first time in a while, since everything started falling apart, as strange as that sounds.”

“It doesn’t.” Veronica washes her hands and gestures to the strawberries laid out before her. “Have you ever made jam before?” When Betty nods she presses the bowl into her hands. “Good, you can help while we talk. Start cutting the stems off of them.”

The knife cuts through the ripe fruits easily, thumping onto the heavy rock countertop. Nobody speaks as she waits for the story to continue. Her fingers are stained red, juices running down her fingers and seeping into the bandages Jughead had spent so long wrapping her in. The fabric drinks it in, pink spreading inch by inch. It reminds her of blood. Blood on the floor. Blood in the attic. Blood that stains the floor and drowns the streets. Blood on her shoes and her shirt and her hair. Blood that her mother washes from her hands while they both cry silently.

“Betty. Your hands are shaking.”

The voice surprises her and the knife slips, biting into her skin. There’s the blood again, joining the strawberries on her wraps, a deeper red now. She’ll have to ask Jughead how they wash their clothes and get this shirt clean soon. Her smile is shaky. “Sorry. Small cut. Maybe I should mash the strawberries instead?”

Betty is thankful she doesn’t push, just washes the cut and gives her the metal utensil to macerate the fruit. Veronica starts talking then. It’s a welcome distraction from the sting on her finger.

“Archie and I were scared when we found out. I hadn’t had my period in months which isn’t too strange, with how stressful it is out here. Mom sent me into the City and the doctors told me what was happening. They gave congratulations and handed me all these baby vouchers about daycares and the joys of childbirth.” Veronica pops a strawberry in her mouth and offers one up to Betty. She’s grateful for the way it melts in her mouth and satisfies some of hunger that’s been nipping at her since her single bite of jerky this morning.

“I don’t think they understand what it’s like in Riverdale. There’s no rule against having kids, but most people don’t. No one has. It’s too dangerous, it’s too much of a hassle. Even my own father told me it was a risk to have Wyatt out here. It’s hard to keep kids quiet and we didn’t want to alert a pack of Diseased where we were. I think we got lucky, with how good of a baby he is, and even know when it’s quiet time he knows how important it is to keep his voice down. But lots of people still resent us. They say that he’s a liability we can’t afford. I don’t know if they realize that if we don’t start populating again Riverdale is going to die out and it’ll be nothing but Ghoulies and Diseased littering the streets.

“Archie was so happy too. He and Fred both were. Fred started crying, kept thanking me for making him a grandpa when he never thought he would be one, and built us a crib for Wyatt. I think what most people are resentful for is how much attention Jughead pays to us. He has someone on watch outside our place every night even though I’ve told him he doesn’t have to. Archie’s told him, so has Fred, but Jughead Jones is annoyingly stubborn. But he makes a valid point. Even though people hate it, what Wyatt represents is important. Healing. Forward movement. Even people who whisper nasty things about Archiekins and I are sweet to him. I’ve started to hear other people talk about kids. Who knows if it’ll happen but it would be nice for Wyatt to not to be so alone. Jughead plays with him, and he has toys, but it’s not the same. I grew up isolated in a lot of ways and I never wanted that for him.”

“No. It’s not.” Betty agrees, taking another strawberry from the bowl and chewing it thoughtfully. “I was a teacher, back in the City and kids are encouraged there. You even get a bonus in your monthly stipend for having them. I guess I never even thought twice about it before I came out here. I just always knew I’d have a baby.”

It isn’t just money used to incentivize the youth into procreation. She thinks about it now and nearly feels sick. Advertisements, health classes, matchmaking services, baby dolls for little girls to feed: it was everywhere. Even Alice had nagged her and Polly about wanting grandkids. Chic was a lost caused, so dedicated to the force before being injured on the job that settling down hadn’t even crossed his mind, but her daughters were reminded every day they weren’t getting any younger.

Jason and Polly had started talking about it, before the Second Outbreak. She’d heard her sister and her husband up late into the night weighing pros and cons until the sun had nearly risen again. And now that, like many things, would never see the light of day.

“What about now?”

Veronica’s question catches her off guard and she looks into the soupy mess she’s made in the plastic mixing bowl. She stares down into the strawberries, hoping they might spell out an answer for her. She pours the sugar in. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a good answer.”

Betty smiles. “Is it really?”

“Well, maybe not, but I don’t know if there is a good answer to that question. Your life was just turned upside down and uprooted. I have to say, I’m glad I didn’t go into the City now, no offense. It doesn’t exactly sound like a place I’d love to be in.”

“It was beautiful in some ways-is still beautiful- but I realize now that with my privilege also came my blindness. I had no idea what Riverdale was even like before I showed up and I walked in assuming I would be welcomed. And why? Because my mom said I would be and my mom is a City Councilwoman. But that doesn’t mean much around here. Or maybe it means something, but none of that something is positive.”

“People here can certainly be… judgemental.” Veronica is careful with her words. She pops the lid of a jar and pours the mixture inside. “I wasn’t born in Riverdale, you know. I was born in New York, before the First Outbreak. We were here, visiting family when it happened and my dad saw the opportunity to take charge while everything was in chaos and try to use my mom is a puppet figure. Now he’s the one who has to sit in the background while she parades around taking calls and making hard decisions. He hated the Serpents, tried to kick them out into Fox Forest, but the community rallied around them. I heard when the Outbreak happened, they were the only thing keeping Riverdale from being consumed in a plague of Diseased. It’s why they’re so respected here. So loved. No place is safer than with a Serpent, B, and you get to stay by the side of their handsome leader. If you’re into brooding masochists, I mean.”

Betty laughs and tries to hide the blush on her cheeks. Of course, she’s noticed how incredibly handsome Jughead is—she has two eyes and they both work--but he hasn’t been the kindest man alive since she showed up. He isn’t hostile anymore, but the way he studies her every movement completely unnerves her. It’s like he can peel back her skin and look into the depths of her blackened soul.

It’s a blessing and a curse when the stairs creak and Jughead descends upon them again. He’s followed by a tall man with broad shoulders and hair so red it looks like someone set his entire head on fire and forgot to cool the flames. His skin has been kissed by the sun, his smile is charming, and he’s holding the little boy that looks unmistakably like him.

“Archie Andrews,” he greets her with a grin and offers his hand. Betty shakes it politely, hoping the strawberry juice and the roughness of her bandages aren’t a complete giveaway that she’s a mess. “You must be Betty. Welcome to Riverdale. Wyatt, can you say hi to Betty?”

Wyatt grins and waves. He’s wearing a shirt now and she can tell from the stitching its hand sewn, not City manufactured. Little yellow ducks walk across his breast pocket. “Hi, Betty.”

“Hi, Wyatt. Nice to meet you, Archie.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Sorry, he didn’t say hi to you earlier. Once Wyatt sees Jughead, he’s all that matters until someone can distract him. Usually, it’s Archie, sometimes it’s Fred. Never me though. You bathe them and love them and push them out of you in the dead of night and it’s Grandpa, Daddy, and Uncle Juggie every day.”

“Don’t go making me look like the bad guy when she hasn’t had a chance to meet me.” Next, and last, down the stairs is an older man with gray in his hair. She suspects this must be the Andrews patriarch she’s heard so much about. He has kind gentle eyes and a smile as gentle as his sons.

He is also missing a leg. What keeps him up as he descends the staircase is Jughead’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and a steady hand on his shoulder. The bottom of his jeans are cut off and tied to keep the wound hidden. Her stomach churns again but she refuses to look away. This is the reality. This is the life she lives in Riverdale now. 

She’s seen it, once or twice, even within City walls. Someone is infected, bitten when they aren’t paying attention or ignoring curfew at the behest of their friends on a dare. Amputation. It’s an option, not one people use lightly, but if it’s the infected area is cut off quick enough the person can be spared from a widespread problem. It has to be quick, decisive, or the infection will run it’s core too quickly. She wonders who had wielded the axe that took Fred Andrews leg. Judging by the gingerness Jughead uses with him, she can only assume.

He helps Fred into the chair by the fireplace and wordlessly lights the kindling with a match. There’s a kettle hanging from a hook, boiling water as the room fills with warmth. Wyatt toddles to his grandfather’s side and picks up a little toy duck to show off to him before dragging it across the wooden flooring with a clunk clunk clunk back to where the rest of the adults are huddled in the kitchen.

“I see Veronica’s already put you to work. That’s my daughter-in-law for you. Fred Andrews is my name. I’d stand up to greet you properly but I’ve been feeling a little unbalanced lately.”

Betty shakes his head and smiles. “No trouble at all, Mr. Andrews. It’s great to get to meet you.”

Veronica takes his teasing in stride, coming over to press a kiss to his forehead, setting a plate of fresh cut fruit in his lap. “Mhm. I have an excellent second in command for my jam business now. Finally, someone who listens. Archie puts too much sugar in, Wyatt gets his hands messy, and Jughead would eat it all before I ever got it into the jars.” She looks pointedly at the Serpent, who has opened one of the glass bottles with a pop and is drinking the contents. He doesn’t really look that ashamed. “I might hire her on at Pop’s at this rate.”

“What’s Pop’s?”

Everyone turns to Betty with surprised eyes until they remember her arrival was only last night and much of Riverdale is still shrouded in mystery. It’s surprising when it’s Jughead who answers, still fingers deep in the strawberry jam. “Pop’s used to be the best diner in Riverdale. It still is, technically, but it’s more of a safe haven than anything else. They still serve food. Gas, electric, water all makes it to Pop’s still. We’re pretty sure it’s connected to the City grid unlike the rest of us, since it’s further out of way, closer to the bus station. The neon sign isn’t there anymore, but the lights and the smell keep the Diseased away. It’s a late night Serpent stop when we’re making rounds and are too tired to make it back to the Wyrm. Any coffee shipments get sent their way. And Mrs. Andrews owns the place.”

“It’s a new arrangement,” Veronica explains, ripping the jar from Jughead’s hands and setting it on the counter. She doesn't make a move to take it away again when he picks it right back up but offers him a pointed eye roll. Betty watches them fight. A game of cat and mouse—or maybe cat and dog. They enjoy pushing each other’s buttons, but it’s never so far the other person gets offended, at least not very. “My God Jughead, do you ever stop eating? Anyway, Pop is getting older and he wanted to make sure the place was kept running. What he does is so important for everyone here.”

“So Pop is a real man?”

Fred laughs. “Pop Tate is as real as any of us. He’s been around in Riverdale since I was a kid. You know, your mother, me, FP, we all used to go to Pop’s for malts after school.” His is far away, nostalgic almost. “Back when all we cared about was if the Bulldogs were going to make it to state. Crazy how things change.”

“Yeah, Dad, real crazy. Maybe it’s a good thing the world tried to end or we’d all be laughing at how a band called the Fredheads got famous right now instead?” Archie smiles gently at his father, an eternal ray of sunshine that pulls the older man back to reality once more.

“I’d argue that’s the worse timeline.” Jughead joins in, reaching across into the sink where a basket of cherries is waiting to be sliced. 

Veronica reaches out and smacks his hand. “You’re worse than the three-year-old, Jones! Don’t you have something better to do than eat us out of house and home? Serpents to corral? Food to buy?”

In an act of immature deviance, he sticks his tongue out at her. It’s ridiculous. This man held a knife by a bonfire yesterday and threatened Betty’s life and now she’s holding her hand over her mouth to keep herself from giggling like a schoolgirl at his ridiculous facial expressions. Veronica looks annoyed and grabs a wooden spoon to smack him with. It hits the cabinet with a terrifying smack when he dodges out of the way.

“Fine! Fine! I should probably go check in with Kevin to see about City correspondence anyway.”

“Perfect. You can make a few of my deliveries today as an apology for eating an entire jar of my jam. You know I can hardly ever get sugar and you go and drink an entire thing. I swear to God, Jughead I’d skin you myself if I could.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Careful,” Archie warns, but his tired expression and the way he sits on the ground unbothered let Betty know there’s nothing to fear and this song and dance is so frequent he’s bored of it. “You know Ronnie would beat you in a fight.”

“Whipped.” Jughead scoffs under his breath.

Veronica packs two baskets of jars. One of them, Betty notices, is filled with things for Jughead to take home with him: canned cherries, apples, and other assorted goods, as well as sauces and jams. Another basket is given to Betty with strict instructions to pass them along to Kevin and Cheryl based on respective jar labels and not let the Serpent Prince eat his fill of them.

“I want my baskets back in one piece this time, Jones! Or Ethel’s going to be driven mad having to replace them!” Veronica shouts from the doorway, having effectively kicked them both out so the happy little family can carry along with their busy day. Wyatt stands beside her, waving and bouncing and begging for Uncle Juggie to come back soon. 

“I know, I know. Baskets in one piece and I’m not allowed to eat what isn’t labeled mine. I’ve done this a few times. Even though I have better things to do than be your delivery boy.”

“No, you don’t.” Veronica’s voice goes soft again, that way it does when she lets her guard down. Betty thinks it’s beautiful. “Jug, if B needs a place to stay tonight you know our door is always open.”

He nods once. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. I have a scheduled round tonight. If it’s perimeter, I’ll drop her off with you guys.”

They depart without a goodbye, but Betty suspects they don’t need one. The morning routine feels familiar, well worn, like a comfortable pair of shoes that have been many years broken in. Even as an outsider she felt at ease amongst the chaos. Jughead looks lighter too, the wrinkles in her forehead less pronounced than they were before.

The silence they walk in is comfortable this time, less awkward as they dodge through streets and around other Riverdale residents. The Market isn’t as busy as before with the dissipation of the early morning crowd. Jughead stops at a few more stalls, trading a few of his new cans for various things. He gets a sack of flower and a container of milk for just one of the little jars. It’s no wonder the town tolerates the Andrews even without the Serpent intervention. Jughead wasn’t lying when he said they were the lifeblood of Riverdale. 

Much of the residential area is crowded still. Two women are parked outside an old farm style house, stitching fabric together and exchanging stories. An older man sits at a spinning wheel with a pile of clipped wool, muttering to himself as a younger man watches, trying to learn the trade. 

“Who exactly is Kevin, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Her voice startles him, just enough for a rock to catch under his foot and send him nearly tumbling over. Betty ignores it for both their egos but can’t fight the little grin twitching at the corners of her lips. 

“Technically, he’s the Sheriff, but that’s more of a title than a real position anymore. His dad got bit and turned a few years back so it passed onto him. The Serpents run things internally, so he doesn’t really mess with our affairs. We’ve got a code, laws, punishments if one of our own steps out of line, but he helps make sure the townspeople feel safe with each other. If someone is caught stealing from their neighbor or setting trade prices too steep, he steps in to mediate with the mayor. But things like that don’t come up very often so he works for Hermione in City affairs, running correspondence, checking bus permits, making sure shipments are coming in, that sort of thing. But most of all, he’s the town gossip.”

Betty can’t help but laugh. “The town gossip? Does Riverdale really have one of those?”

“Every town has one of those. In Greendale, it's some old crone named Geraldine Grundy. Kevin knows everything about anyone, even if you don’t know him. I don’t know how he does it. Blood Magic? Blackmail? Honestly, I’m too afraid at this point to ask, but it’s useful. Sometimes, Serpents need information and we know who to ask, especially when our Mayor is being obtuse during negotiations.”

“I take it that happens often.”

“Politics is not my forte, Betty. It’s tedious and frustrating.”

“And yet I imagine the Serpents are in it a lot? Wouldn’t you have to be? You’re basically Riverdale’s police, the task force, the military, the protectors. I’m sure that by proxy you’re roped into a lot of that.”

Jughead grimaces. “It is not by choice, I assure you.”

The town hall is just as run down as the rest of Riverdale. The windows are still boarded up, maybe even a little tighter than all the houses they’ve passed on their steady walk. She realizes Jughead’s been dragging his feet all the way here, dawdlling like a child who doesn’t want to go home and get rung out for misbehavior. It makes her smile.

She can tell the building dates to before the First Outbreak because of the architecture. It’s made from materials that aren’t as plentiful as they used to be, and there’s broken bits knocked out of the front facing decorative pillars that look like they might have occurred in the riots. There are claw marks and bite rings on the steps towards the tall maple doors that look like they’ve been put back together more than a few times. The memory of the night her family left Riverdale has always been vague. Fire. Flashing blue and red lights. Sirens off in the distance as Chic wrapped her up in his coat and held her tight in his lap before the quarantine officially cracked down. Looking at Jughead, she wonders what he remembers, if anything at all, or if this has always been it for him.

“What happened to Fred Andrews?”

Jughead raises an eyebrow before pushing open the City Hall doors. It’s dark in the hallway aside from a few candles littered around to illuminate the cramped hallway. The atmosphere is spooky, unnerving, but she follows his lead and tries not to feel too uneasy. “You’re full of questions today. You weren’t so chatty last night.”

“I had a noose around my neck last night. That makes it sort of hard to talk.”

Her sass catches him off guard and the corners of his lips twitch upwards, fighting off a smile. “Fair. Fred got bitten. Someone tampered with the gates and he didn’t have to, but he came out at night to help patch them up. We were stupid, only sending one Serpent with him. Joaquin got torn apart, but Fred managed to scare enough of them off with a few loud noises. By the time I got to him, there really wasn’t much of a choice.”

It confirms her suspicions, both about his relationship with the Andrews and the quickness with which they deal with problems. The steely resolve in his voice is impressive albeit terrifying. But there are no more moments for questions, at least not right now, because from behind a door appears another man in the long list of faces and names she’s met today.

“Sheriff Keller,” Jughead greets him.

The man, Kevin, grimaces. “Yikes. You know I hate when you call me that, Jughead. It makes me sound old and like my dad and I am neither of those things.” His eyes fall on Betty, holding a basket of goods, and his entire face lights up. “A new face! Oh, thank God. Riverdale’s been boring lately. I’m Kevin Keller and you are…?”

“Betty Cooper. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kevin. I have a few goodies for you courtesy of Veronica Andrews.” She pulls out the three jars for him and, after a few minutes of deliberation, sets them on the hallway counter.

“And you’ve managed to keep Jughead’s sticky fingers away from them? You must be a miracle worker, Betty. You’re from The City right?”

It’s a conversation she’s already tired of having, but she offers him a tight-ipped smile and nods. Her feet are starting to ache again and she can feel the bandages soaking up what’s oozing from the deep cracks in her skin. She shifts uncomfortably but tries to keep focused on what he’s saying. It’s hard to when she wants nothing more than to turn around and find a place to sleep. Maybe if she asks nicely enough, Jughead will take her back to the cabin, so they can be done with trite and repetitive introductions. Her exhaustion is making her irritable and she wonders how on Earth these people can all look so chipper and carefree day after day.

Sensing her discomfort, Kevin barrels on forward, talking so much she figures he might be trying to dig himself out of the quietness. It’s sweet. “I bet it’s more exciting than it is here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running away. Maybe I could find a boyfriend that isn’t committed to the Serpent suicide missions.”

What he says strikes a nerve in Jughead, who stiffens and turns his eyes away from Kevin. “Speaking of the City, we’re not just here for jam and I definitely don’t care about whatever gossip you’ve got. I want an update on the blockade.”

“Business as always, Jones. Fine. We don’t have much news here in the Mayor's’ office. The City is shut down until further notice, no buses coming our way or going theirs. A few of the people on The Council say there was a problem with the antidotes and a few things reacted badly but it’s a minor inconvenience at best.”

“And how honest do you think that was?”

“Complete and utter bullshit, but there’s nothing we can do about it. They said they’ll still be sending armored vehicles in and out for shipments, but they’re cutting it back to once every two weeks. So the shipment that came three nights ago is the last we’ll be getting for twelve more days. Think you can make do?”

Jughead nods, lost in his thoughts. “We’ll have to. We’ve survived on less, and as long as they’re promising a shipment by the end of the month we can make it. Especially with what Sweet Pea’s been fiddling with in terms of the generators lately. We’ll be fine, it’s an inconvenience, but nothing that should hurt us too bad in the long run. But I want to up the Serpent count when the shipments come in to search for any sign of infection. And no people, right? Betty here’s the last one we’ll have to deal with?”

Part of her feels like she should be ashamed, especially with the way he says it and makes a vague gesture to her entire being, but she’s not. She fought to get here and the wounds on her feet are proof enough of that. Cooper women never roll over and play dead and it will be a cold day in hell before she does.

Kevin regards her with interest before nodding. “The last and only, so you can stop worrying about your crunched numbers, alright? One more Riverdale resident isn’t going to kill you or break our crops. I hope he wasn’t too much of an asshole to you, Betty. Our fearless leader can sometimes be a bit prickly.”

“That’s one word for it.” Betty relaxes and laughs. “But he’s been good. He’s letting me live with him and I feel safe there. I appreciate everything him, his dad, and the Serpents have already done for me and my family. Cheryl seems happier than ever being out here.”

“Cheryl? How do you know Cheryl Blossom, the angriest, deadliest archer in Riverdale?”

“She’s my sister by marriage. We were really good friends before she moved out here, so I’m glad I have someone I know.”

Kevin’s eyes sparkle with delight and she hears Jughead whisper under his breath, “God damn it, Betty, you’ve gone and done it now.”

“Riveting. Well, I can’t wait to hear more about it later, but for now, I have these jars to put away and Mayor Lodge wants me stationed by the phones in case the City calls for any more news. I’ll make sure to keep you updated too, Jughead.”

“Appreciated. Take care, Kevin.”

Before they leave, Betty puts a hand on his shoulder, eyes hopeful. “Were any of the Council people you’ve talked to...were any of them named Cooper, perchance?” She’s worried about her mother. Terrified might be a more apt word. People might quake in the wake of Alice Cooper, but the Diseased couldn’t be hurt by her serrated tongue and they wouldn’t fall so easily to her high heels. She had left her home in a state of chaos and it frightens her to think her mother might be hurt.

“No,” he’s gentle with her, squeezing her hand. “But if I hear a thing about her you’ll be the first to know, Betty, I promise.”

She’s so grateful she gives him a hug, which he returns before sending them off on their way. There’s a relief in her heart now. Sometimes the best news is no news and she doubts her mother has any time to be on the phone when she’s calming civilians and fixing the messes made by her colleagues.

“Where are we going now?”

“To the Whyte Wyrm, Serpent headquarters,” he explains. “Before the Outbreak, it was the biker bar but now it acts as a base of operations.”

“So that bonfire huddle I stumbled upon last night wasn’t just for fun then?”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “No. Everyone already had their assignments for the night. After we prepare at the Wyrm we go outside and wait for nightfall before splitting up. We make sure there’s always someone by the fire in case of emergencies. Two different locations. One for planning, one for executions.”

She nods in understanding and doesn’t ask any more questions. It’s all she can do to keep taking steps, ignoring the pain in her feet. She can tell by his irritation that she’s slowing him down and when the whimper rips out of her throat he audibly sighs, stopping dead in his tracks. After handing her the basket, he crouches down just enough. “Get on my back. You’re moving slow and I can tell you’re in pain. We need to get to the Wyrm before tomorrow. My dad might be around but he’s absolutely useless when it comes to executing plans and he doesn’t get the newer team the same way I do. So, up. No arguments.”

She wants to. She really really wants to. And for a minute, she’s going to open her mouth and tell him she isn’t some child and he isn’t her older brother- piggybacking her home after a long day at the park. But one more step and her feet are pulsing again and she caves before she’s really even begun to put up a fight.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Jughead doesn’t answer, just picks her up with ease and carries her the rest of the way to wherever they’re going. Betty watches as they buildings they pass by become more and more sparse. They’re in a strange part of town now, amidst broken old tin can trailers, where trash is decomposing amongst other unidentifiable things. The trees are thicker around them and she can’t see the fence they’ve built around Riverdale on any sides. Maybe there is no fence out here. The thought chills her and she tries to focus on the building coming into view.

It, like everything else around here, is a broken mess of boarded-up windows and shoddily nailed together wood. But unlike everything else, it looks like it’s maybe always been that way. A giant snake is etched on an old sign, the same logo she’s seen on the back of everyone’s leather jackets. The one on Jughead’s is different. Perhaps that comes with his status--a subtle and constant reminder of his rank. She can hear the noise coming from inside the Whyte Wyrm. It bustles the same way the Market did, maddening and beautiful all at once, drowning out the eerie silence that clings tightly to her mind in this terrifyingly foreign world. It’s familiar to hear laughter and jovial teasings from friends.

Old bikes and heaps of heavy scrap metal litter the long ago dirt parking lot. A few of them look classic. Back in the City, it was a hobby of hers to study old machinery, especially Pre-Outbreak automobiles of any sort. Maybe if she asks nicely the Serpents will let her scavenge for things to tinker with while she sits in Jughead’s cabin bored and worried late into the night. 

They climb up the steps to the entrance and Jughead sets her down. He doesn’t ask how she’s doing, just looks her up and down--maybe to make sure she won’t fall over. Satisfied, he nods and leads the way inside. The noise doesn’t completely die down when they enter, but she can tell there’s a shift in demeanor, eyes shifting their way, flicking back and forth between the two of them. A lot of them are the same characters from last night, but there are a few she doesn’t recognize.

There’s two pool tables smack in the center of the bar, but it looks like there’s only enough sticks and balls for one game at a time. The tall man from the other day and his shorter friend are arguing about something while another guy watches with vague interest. Betty spots Cheryl and before she can blink her cousin is by her side and the world feels a little less lonely, at least for a few minutes, as Jughead goes to the pool table to talk with the boys gathered around.

“Cousin. I hope the Hobo Prince has been treating you well. If he’s been anything less than a perfect gentleman I’ll make him eat his own teeth.”

“He’s fine, Cher, thanks for looking out for me. He even carried me here because my feet were hurting me. And last night he bound my hands to make sure I wasn’t bleeding, even taking care of them again this morning. After what happened, I would have thought he’d be cruel, but he hasn’t been. Maybe quiet, reserved, but not hostile or mean.”

She nods, apparently satisfied with the knowledge Betty has shared. “Good. Don’t mind his prickly attitude. He’s always had it. It’s not just you that he’s like that with.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Riverdale is a nice place to be.”

“Better than The City, certainly, but it’s nothing to be in awe over. It’ll lose it’s wonder the first night City lines get cut and you don’t have running water. I remember I cried until TT boiled water herself so I could bathe. Then I was much too distracted to be upset.”

Betty laughs and lets herself relax a little. Cheryl’s got a way about that, always has, with turning something so terrifying into nothing more than a trivial inconvenience you can laugh at. It’s one of the reasons Betty has always cherished her. It’ll be nice to have her as a constant during a trying storm of change.

“Oh! I have something for you, from Veronica Andrews. Maple preserved apples.” She holds out the jar, which her cousin eagerly takes. “The Andrews are nice people.”

“They’re tolerable. Archie is an imbecile but he’s good with his hands and Veronica single-handedly keeps most of the town from starving. I suppose Wyatt is cute too.” These are glowing recommendations Cheryl is giving them, in her own special way.

They open the lid with a pop and half the Serpents come rushing towards them. Cheryl bats them away, only allowing Toni a single bite of one of the apples. Betty has a few of the slices before the sweetness coats her tongue and becomes heavy on her tender stomach. They’re good. Delicious even. She’ll have to thank Veronica for the batch she’d sent home with her and Jughead somehow.

“So what’s the purpose of these pre-planning meetings?”

Toni rolls her eyes. “Easing Jughead’s anxiety and petting his ego?”

“I heard that Topaz!” Jughead’s sitting on the pool table and he knocks the stick once against the side. It’s loud enough to draw everyone’s attention to him. The shift is almost like whiplash. He seems so unassuming when he’s just sitting there, borderline approachable, but now that fire is back in his eyes and Betty might as well be rooted to the spot with fear and respect. There’s a shiver down her spine and a tightness in her core she tries to attribute to the breeze but even she finds that lie unbelievable. “Pay attention. Toni, Cheryl, you guys are on market tonight. Someone says they spotted a few crawlers shuffling through last night and I won’t have that shit happen again. Which means Sweet Pea, Fangs, I better not catch you goofing off on border patrol. I’ll have Hog Eye and Tall Boy do counter rounds to check up on you.”

He pauses to think, looking around at the Serpents milling around. A few more jobs are dictated to people with names that Betty hopes are made up but doubts they are, not when their friends are called Sweet Pea, Jughead, and Fangs. It’s strange to think her cousin may have the most normal name of the bunch.

“Has anyone seen my dad?” There’s radio silence and she can practically hear the tension crackling in the air. The sigh Jughead gives is frustrated, but not entirely surprised. “Fucking, of course, he skipped out on Farm duty. The one time he agreed to it willingly so I could have another night off. Fine. I guess that means I’ll take it. But I need someone to patrol the Andrews tonight if that’s the case. Any volunteers.”

A younger looking Serpents salutes and that’s enough of a confirmation. Before Betty can speak up and ask what a place called the Farm is—probably rather idiotically—he guy called Tall Boy opens his mouth. “I don’t get why we bother watching the Andrews. They got themselves into that mess and they should have to figure it out. We’re wasting manpower on making sure they stay alive.”

No one speaks. She thinks maybe no one even breaths until Jughead hops down off the peeling back green felt and starts to play with the pool cue. “Tell me, Tall Boy, does it ever get exhausting being a little bitch? No? Then it shouldn’t get exhausting making sure  _ our people  _ in Riverdale don’t get shanked by Ghoulies or eaten alive by Diseased. Shut your mouth and think before you say something stupid like that again, or I’ll take this cue stick and shove it so far up your ass you’ll be able to make a pocket with your tongue. Understood?” When no one answers, his voice goes dark and Betty’s legs turn to jelly. “I said, Gerald, is that understood?”

“Understood,” the older man grits out, before turning back to the bar and tossing back the shot of moonshine. It’s the same color as what Jughead poured on her foot this morning and she wonders if it comes from FP Jones’ stash.

“Good. You all have your orders for tonight. Make sure to cycle back by the bonfire for shift changes and if you start to feel tired, listen to your body and ask for a replacement. Tired people are stupid people and I’m not losing any of you to idiocy tonight. Except maybe Sweet Pea, but that’s a risk we take every night.”

The tension dissipates with a snap and everyone’s laughing, even the object of their jokes. But one thought lingers on her mind and she turns to Cheryl and Toni hopeful they can and are willing to answer her questions. “Who are the Ghoulies and why do people keep mentioning them?”

“The Ghoulies were the Serpents rivals before the First Outbreak,” Toni explains, sneaking another bite of Cheryl’s apple. Her cousin glares but offers up the rest of it to her wife with a single huff, not letting her get a proper taste until she’s rewarded for her kindness with a kiss. “A gang that dealt way harder shit and made stupider choices. Serpents were a menace, sure, but the worst we ever got was noise complaints and dope selling. There was a rumor for awhile that the Ghoulies were cannibals. Hell, that’s still a rumor, and it’s more likely to be true now than it was back then.

“When everything fell to shit, Serpents kicked them out because they couldn’t play nice. FP told them to take a hike and they’ve been bitter about it for awhile. Shit only got worse when Penny, a former Serpent, was caught sneaking them in through the fence to raid some of our food warehouse—that’s the Farm that Jug was talking about,” Toni takes a sneaky bite of her wife’s apples again. “She got a quick exile and now runs around with the Ghoulies in Fox Forest doing God knows what. Sometimes they try to raid here, or Greendale. Once or twice they run in Midville if they’re getting desperate but they haven’t been much of a threat recently. I think it puts Jughead on edge to not be getting frequent death threats from Penny. He was the one who caught her sneaking people in and out when he was thirteen, barely old enough to wear the jacket. He got the deciding vote in her exile too and she hasn’t forgiven him for it.”

“Would you?” Cheryl rolls her eyes. “I doubt anyone would ever want to willingly run with the Ghoulies. They’ve got no protection out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d all finally been picked off by the Diseased.”

“He was only thirteen?” Betty’s eyes go wide. At thirteen she was running around the playground skinning her knees and playing kissing games with boys in her best friend’s basement. She’s reminded again how different her life would be if they had been trapped in Riverdale. Would she have ended up a Serpent, dodging through dead bodies and exiling adults?

Toni shrugs. “Yeah, most of us were when we joined. Aside from the few recruits we get from The City, or used to get, they’ve always been pissy when we pick up their golden children, we were raised into it. Me, Fangs, Sweet Pea, Jughead, we all grew up together, trained together, taught the ins and outs of Serpent culture like it was second nature. We play by our own rules and the Mayor respects that. We deal with our shit and we keep the people in the town safe.”

“Wow, this is… this is a lot.”

“Welcome to the real world, City Girl. I know you think everything is rainbows and sunshine but life is hard out here and it’s going to get harder. You can’t buckle under pressure. You have to stay strong and you’ll stay alive and that’s all that matters.”

Cheryl clucks her tongue and squeezes her wife’s hand. “TT, be nice. Betty has to transition. It wasn’t easy for me either, remember? I cried for weeks trying to adjust to everything. Not that anyone will believe you if either of you repeat it. I made a name for myself within the Serpents and Betty’s my cousin so she will too. Don’t let me down.”

Jughead’s back a few minutes later, looking more tired than frustrated, less authoritative then he had been during his announcements. He’s younger now, her age again. “Sorry, Betty. Dad was supposed to take my Farm shift tonight but he probably won’t show up again for another few weeks. I’d leave you with the Andrews, and honestly, it’s safe, but adding another body is tempting fate. You’ll have to come with me out on duty.”

Her stomach rolls up in painful knots as reality crushes an uncomfortable weight on her chest. Cheryl’s eyes flash with anger and she stands. “Like hell, she will. She can stay at your place or Toni and I’s during the night.”

“And what? Wait? I live on the outskirts and I know you and Toni don’t keep your locks as tight as they should be. Which is fine, because you can handle yourselves, but she can’t. Betty’s defenseless out here right now and like it or not the safest place for her is with me. I’m not thrilled about the deadweight either, but the Ghoulies have been quiet, so aside from a few scattered Diseased, it’ll be an easy night.” His voice goes soft now, the same softness he used with Fred and Wyatt and for the first time, Betty sees that he and Cheryl might be something like friends, or at least friend adjacent. “I promise I’ll keep her safe. You’d never let me live it down if I didn’t.”

No one says anything else, but that heaviness stays in her lungs, making it hard to breathe with every passing tick on the clock. It’s coming. Too quickly, it’s coming, her reckoning, her awakening. It would be foolish to think she could get away with a move to Riverdale without having to encounter any Diseased. The most she’s ever seen is crudely drawn pictures in text books—photographs deemed too harsh for the eyes of the youth—and all her stories came from Chic who did his best to buffer the knowledge. When she’d done what she had to with Polly and Jason, they hadn’t fully turned. Polly looked fresh-faced and normal, eyes glazed over while her husband ripped into her flesh with his bare hands, and the veins were barely starting to crackle on Jason’s paper-pale skin.

They stop by Jughead’s cabin to pack a bag for the night. He shoves a few blankets into an old canvas rucksack and wraps one of his jackets tight around Betty’s shoulders. It practically swallows her, the limbs hanging off like when she was a toddler wearing her mother’s favorite dress, but he assures her it’s going to be cold and she’s forgotten to bring a jacket, at least one thick enough from a night at the Farm. To her surprise, he throws a few books in the bag as well. Some of them she recognizes, but a few she doesn’t, and she hopes he might be willing to share. All she has is a worn through copy of a Jane Austen novel and the completed works of Toni Morrison. They’re Pre-Outbreak books. Anything written after has been dull at best, uninspired and trite at worst.

The gun should surprise her more than it does. He has a pistol tucked into his back pocket, but from the cabinet in the hallway he procures a shotgun and a few shells. “We won’t use it much,” he explains, “But the Diseased hate noises that are too loud. So worst comes to worst, I blow one of these and it’ll send them scattering and give us time to get away.”

She stares at the wood apprehensively when he holds it out for her to carry on their walk. Jughead can tell the shift in her stance and laughs. “You’ve never touched one before have you?” She doesn’t need to answer, but she gives him a curt nod anyway. “We’ll fix that tonight. Come on. We need to make it before nightfall to set up. We’ll make a fire in the middle and try to relax best we can.”

The Farm is, as the name implies, an old red barn cleared out and converted into a large storage container. It’s cold inside, purposefully so and she sees boxes and barrels lined up and pressed against the walls. Some of them are marked with  _ SHIP TO CITY  _  but others just have signs listing the number of each item tucked away for safekeeping. The ones for town also have names attached to them, written on every side of the crate in black ink that’s hard to miss.

“It’s easier to keep all the food stuffs here,” Jughead explains when her eyes wander. He strikes the match and tosses it onto the pile of hay he’s gathered as kindling. It ignites immediately and the logs start to crackle and burn, filling up the chilly space with warmth. “Easier than expecting people to keep it in their houses anyway. They pick up what they want to take to Market from whoever Kevin’s got stationed here in the mornings. We keep it safe at night and usually that means Serpents get first pick of crops, which is appreciated when a lot of us sleep the days away so we can make sure someone’s watching over the town  during the night.”

Betty nods and rubs her eyes, fighting back a yawn. “That makes sense. I’m glad Riverdale gives back to you. They should, for all you’re doing to keep it safe, I mean.”

“It’s our home too. It always has been. I’m Riverdale born and raised and so are most of the Serpents. My dad told me that people used to hate him. He hid being a Serpent back when he was in High School and now we’ve got people begging to join the ranks. A lot of them don’t stick it through, our business isn’t exactly easy. People think they want to deal in death until they actually start doing it.”

The barn door creaks open and moonlight pours inside. She can hear it, the quiet rustling, the guttural moans. It takes her back to when she pressed her ear against the pipes as a child only now the mystique of safety is gone and there is nothing between her and death but the crackling dance of open flames and a man with a gun who can’t seem to decide if he hates her or enjoys her company.

Habit forces her eyes down, but Betty grits her teeth and pushes through the discomfort so she can finally get a good look at one of the Diseased. The skin makes them look ill, yellowed under the eyes and around the fingertips. Blood is caked around its mouth, dried, old, maybe from an unlucky tear that got too close and didn’t know any better. The eyes are glassy and empty as they lazily scan through the room for any sign of food. That’s what they’re after. Demons of gluttony, the preacher’s say to anyone who will listen, a plague brought on by God to force humanity to face its own sins. No one really listens to them, not when the Council is parading around pamphlets filled with facts on the virus, but looking at them now Betty feels they might be right. It’s a grotesque interpretation of humanity. It bears an uncanny resemblance to every man she’s ever walked by on the street, and yet it’s wrong, strained. Her stomach clenches and she fights back the bile that rises up and hits the back of her throat.

Jughead doesn’t move. He just waits and watches as it stumbles forward and the barn door slams shut. It stays out of the light ring the fire provides, dancing just on the edge with such purpose Betty feels her skin start to crawl. He stands slowly, taking her hand and forcing her to rise with him.

“Come here.”

The instructions are whispered, barely there above the roar of the fire, but she’s compelled to obey and finds herself in his arms with the gun in her hand. It’s the pistol, not the shot gun he’s got tucked firmly behind a pile of extra kindling. His calloused hands wrap around hers and she can feel the ghost of his touches even through her bandages. He’s gentle as he guides her finger to the trigger and his breath traces the hollow of her ear. It feels far more intimate than it is.

“Aim at the head or the torso. Steady your hands. Take a deep breath in. One. Two. Pull.”

A click. A bang. A shout, but from who she’s not sure. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s the thing, who’s just had a bullet whiz by and lodge in a wooden beam by it’s head. The creatures hisses and curls in on itself. They’re slower than she imagined and even in the desperation to escape she knows she could catch up and finish it off if the purpose of this exercise was to kill. It isn’t. She can tell by Jughead’s pleased hum that she’s done what she’s supposed to.

“Good job. We’ll get better at the aiming part next time. But you only jumped a little and you didn’t hesitate. I’ll admit, I’m impressed.” 

His praise makes her glow. When he steps back, taking the gun with him, Betty finds herself missing the warmth that had engulfed her. The jacket still smells like fire, and maybe gunpowder too, but it’s missing the distinctness of whatever makes him uniquely Jughead. She keeps those thoughts to herself  as she moves to sit beside him again.

One of the blankets--old, with a myriad of Pre-Outbreak cartoon faces on it--is laid out beneath them to cushion the hard ground. The other is sitting beside him with the rucksack and the gun. They sit in silence, each with their own books before them. Every so often she’ll sneak a glance at what he’s reading. It looks as old as hers and she can see the marked corners from all the places he’s had to stop.

“Kurt Vonnegut? Is he any good?”

Her voice startles him just a little, shoulders tensing, before he nods. “I’d say yes, but it depends on if you enjoy surrealism. I like it. It’s a distraction from all the insanity of the real world, so it almost seems normal.”

“Do you think I could borrow it one day? I’ll trade you. Morrison or Austen for Vonnegut?”

He studies her for a moment and those whirling blue eyes are unreadable. Finally, Jughead smiles at her, a sight so surprisingly stunning it makes her heart flutter. “I’ll do you one better. Riverdale has a public library, or used to, anyway. Most people don’t care enough to visit so we don’t keep anyone on watch. People can come and go as they please. We can go there and raid the shelves in search of some new reading material. I’ve been meaning to fill my shelves for awhile anyway.”

The library had been her happy place back in The City. Whenever there was something eating away at her heart or her mind, Betty could tuck herself away in a fantasy land and indulge herself in books. Sometimes she would nearly miss curfew after becoming so engrossed in a novel that the librarian had to remind her it was getting unsafe to walk home. Most nights Chic would have to come pick her up, half heartedly scolding her just so he could tell Betty it was already done and let her run off to her room to with hidden snacks and a flashlight so she could read under the safety of her floral pink covers.

“That sounds amazing, Jughead. I’d love to.” She yawns, this time louder. The aches and pains are starting to catch up and the adrenaline rush from the gun has left her exhausted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s been a busy few weeks for you hasn’t it? Here,” he balls up the blanket and tucks it into his lap. “Go to sleep. You’re dead tired and like I said earlier, tired people make stupid people and stupid people—”

“Make dead people. That’s good advice. But is it really safe to just fall asleep right here? I mean, with those things around?”

“They won’t bother us after that noise. That and the fire will keep them at bay. Besides, I’ll stay awake and someone will probably stop by later to make sure we’re doing okay. Toni or Cheryl, maybe Sweet Pea and Fangs on their rounds. But it’s safe. Trust me.”

She does, resting her head against the fluff of the blanket after pulling her ponytail free, cuddling deeper into the jacket and letting the warmth of the fire lull her into a comforted haze.

“Thanks. Sometimes I have that. I might even go so far as to call it my job to.” He chuckles and Betty’s so surprised when she feels his hands in her hair, taking the loose curls apart to work delicate braids in, that she nearly sits up. The steady pace is comforting and her eyes flutter closed. “As payment for all the questions you asked me earlier, I get one before you go to sleep.”

Her voice is a barely there haze, “Shoot.”

“Did you get to go to school?”

“I did. I went to school, and then I taught school. You don’t...have that here in Riverdale, do you?” It’s a stupid question that she knows the answer to, but asking it only felt right.

“No. I can read and write, most everyone can, but I think that’s parental stubbornness more than anything. Toni’s grandpa had this makeshift school for Serpent recruits where we’d memorize laws and write down creeds and learn traditions, but I doubt that was anything like what you had.”

“I wrote down a lot of things. And most mornings we did this weird thing where we pledged to the flag and sat in silence for a few seconds to contemplate the sacrifices of The Council in our prosperity.”

Betty can’t see him making a face, but she feel like it’s there. “Sounds weird.”

“It was.”

They don’t talk again, but some of the strained animosity is fading, bit by bit between them. It’s enough to help her relax and let the crackle of fire and the pads of his fingers brushing against her scalp lull her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr [@tory-b](www.tory-b.tumblr.com) ! Thank you for reading. kisses and adoration.


	3. The Pitch Black Thick of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! i know it's been nearly a month since I updated, but in that time you're looking at a college graduate! Hopefully...knock on wood...if I pass all my classes (i'm 99% sure i did, but never be presumptuous.) It's always just a busy time of the year. On top of it I've moved back home and I'm about to celebrate my 22nd birthday (January 12th so it's still half a month away but you know it's just busy.) Plus these chapters are just...the're utterly massive. This not quite as much as the previous chapter. We've only got about 11.7k in this one! You know, as opposed to an anetire novella like last chapter.
> 
> An ever loud thank you to all of you who read this and my utterly spectacular beta @theonlyemmaleigh who is so quick and dedicated to this writing I am forever moved by her. I ADORE YOU girl.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy where things start to heat up a little bit.

The weeks start to blur together after the first one. The drudgery is replaced with mundane repetition. Betty wakes up, she follows Jughead to the market, she spends time with Veronica, and, depending on where Jughead is, they either end up on his rounds or awkwardly facing away from one another in the increasingly cramped space of his bed. Last night, after a loud bang had chased away all her tiredness, she had found their feet tangled together. Warmth radiated off of his lean body and she can’t blame her sleepy hazed self for wanting to be closer to that. Still, their relationship is tight and she won’t be pushing any buttons on the only person standing between her and a life spent trapped in her own ravenous body, stumbling around for the next meal as one of the Diseased.

No matter how hard she tries, Betty feels like a failure. It’s one thing to use her skills in Veronica’s kitchen, cutting away strawberry stems and canning fruits. Things are nice there. She’s thanked for her work and when she makes deliveries the people always tip her with something extra to take home. Not everyone is friendly, but most of them are. Kevin says it’s because no one is used to seeing unfamiliar faces. A little break in monotony is good for the soul. At least, that’s what he keeps saying as encouragement.

Gossiping with Kevin makes her feel like she’s back in The City; he would have fit in well with the social elites. She thinks her friends Reggie and Josie would have loved him and the on again and off again nature of their relationship would have kept Kevin entertained for days on end. It helps that Veronica is there too, feeding into their stories, sharing some of her own. She has a lot to tell.

“I’m not sure if you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Ethel said,” she says, her knife hitting the cutting board with a loud clap that startles Wyatt, half asleep in Kevin’s arms with strawberries coating his fingertips.

“And by pleasure,” Kevin interrupts, “She means disservice. She’s the seamstress here but she’s absolutely insane. But she’s been especially moody ever since you showed up, so do your best to avoid her.”

Veronica shushes him and gives Wyatt a quick kiss to help ease the little boy back to sleep. With the gentle sway of Kevin’s arms, he’s easily back in dreamland. The flutter of his lashes always eases the worried ache in Betty’s chest. No matter how stressful her day has been she gets one look at those chubby cheeks and the world feels less terrible than it did before. She understands why Jughead spends nearly all his free time here. Without the Andrews, he might have gone mad from stress. Every time she’s at the Wyrm she feels like her head might explode--a cacophony of dissenting opinions and frustrated minds.

“She’s jealous. Jughead’s self-imposed chastity ruined her plans and now you get to sleep in bed with him every night? Oh, she’s pissed.”

“What’s that like, by the way, being curled up next to Riverdale’s tallest, most handsome Serpent leader? Indulge me, Betty. Is he the big spoon or the little spoon?”

She rolls her eyes at Kevin’s absurdity, but the playful banter does as much for her heart as little Wyatt’s kisses or the way he runs through the grass and plucks the flowers he sees so he can make them into decorations for Jughead’s crown.

“We don’t cuddle, Kev, so I wouldn’t know. He faces one way and I face the other and we fall asleep in silence.” It isn’t entirely true. Sometimes they talk, whisper about mundane things until one of them is finally claimed by the sweet embrace of darkness. Usually, it’s him that’s out first, the worries of the day wearing him down until he collapses under their pressure. She always stays up a few more hours and counts the things she hears go bump in the night.

“Well, that sounds boring. No wonder Jughead’s always in a bad mood. He’s got this gorgeous girl in his bed that he has to just ignore and all because he’s terrified of close relationships due to his perpetual feel of abandonment and failure.”

Veronica sighed. “Kevin. You know I love roasting Jughead as much as the next person, but ease up on him, at least for today. Last night he came by during the dead of the night because we ran out of alcohol to clean Fred’s wounds in. I owe him. For today. Tomorrow I am free to tell Betty all the stories Archie likes to pass down, including his childhood rock collection. I didn’t tell you this, but he named them all.”

The laughter wakes Wyatt up again, and Veronica is forced to take him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck him under the piles of knitted blankets. It’s starting to get colder now, a chill in the air and Betty realizes that winter will be coming soon. She wonders what it’s like in Riverdale. Back home the hearths never died and even the classrooms had fireplaces stocked with wood. Some of the older Pre-Outbreak buildings had clunky electric heating that the Council would keep running off of solar energy. She had been lucky enough to work in the busiest elementary school in the area and that came with its privileges.

Here, those luxuries, like all luxuries, were not as easily obtained thanks to her mother’s position of power. She doubts a single heater exists in the giant wall of Riverdale and a few of the homes she’s stumbled into lacked fireplaces. Instead, they had a room dedicated to the fire, an area carved out to make sure it didn’t overspill. Things were cold inside of the Jones house as it was and she wondered what winter would mean for their sleeping arrangements. Perhaps they would move the mattress downstairs to be closer to the warmth or sleep in more clothes.

She can tell by the chill in the air that snow will be soon. Back home in the City, she had a calendar to count the days. Here it’s just the cycle of the sun and the moon. When the moon peaks in the sky she knows it’s time to sleep, and when the sun dares to flicker off the horizon she knows it’s time to rise. Maybe it’s been more than a week. It’s hard to keep track of it all. It was getting cold when she had left, but there’s a nip in the air that paints her ears and nose pink. She looks up the stairs and hopes Wyatt will be bundled up nicely as the weather chills. Veronica must have it covered though, or maybe even Jughead’s responsible for all the little boy’s gifts. The Serpents carry such sway here that she never would have imagined when the Blossoms described the degenerate their daughter road into the proverbial sunset with.

“I would hire you for my business if I could,” Veronica mentions once Kevin has been called back to his important policeman work after an unfortunate brawl in the Market between two vendors pertaining to the apple exchange rate that Jughead deemed too petty to deal with. “You are the perfect canning partner. Wyatt gets sticky fingers about as bad as Jug does, and Archie can’t keep his attention on anything for too long. Fred likes to help when he can but he gets distracted and starts telling me all these stories. It’s sweet, but it makes business slower and the preserves are important. Everyone does their part and this is mine.”

Yes, the kitchen felt good to Betty, but it wasn’t enough. She felt stifled in Veronica’s comfortable four walls, canning peaches and cutting apples until her fingertips feel raw. She wanted to prove herself, to do her part, to carve out a place like Veronica had that made her feel like she was contributing to Riverdale. She could tell by the glares and whispers that most of the town still didn’t trust her and frankly she couldn’t blame them. Who was she but an interloper who canned and ran fruits?

“Betty?” Jughead peaked his head into the room, eyes narrowing in on the jars stacked on the counter.

Veronica picked up her spoon and threw it at him, crushed strawberries splattering against the wall, coating the wood in a thick layer of sticky syrup she would have to clean off later. “No! You keep your eyes off my fruits, Jones, before you eat me out of house and home. You’re like a vulture.”

“Jesus! I didn’t come in here to steal your food. For once. I came because Betty and I have to make more rounds. I promised the Serpents I’d check out the market and the outskirts today since I don’t have the night shift. But I won’t say no to a couple of those things for the road.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your one true love: food. Fine. You get two. One for you and one for my B, but if you eat it for her I will hear about it and I will officially ban you from apple day.”

Archie appeared in the doorway next. He looked to the wall and let out a little sigh, but in general seemed unperturbed by the interaction. It always surprised Betty, how relaxed these three were with each other, despite the obvious tension in the relationships. Archie acted as an anchor, yes, but she could see a friendship between Veronica and Jughead, masquerading as an ill-defined personal vendetta that was kept up simply for the sake of having something to argue about.

“Are you sure you have to leave?” Archie asked and grabbed an old cloth from one of the cupboards, dunking it in water so he could start to work the gunk from the wall. “Wyatts going to be sad you didn’t say goodbye.”

Jughead’s face fell, sadness flickering across his expression. Betty very rarely saw him vulnerable and all times she had it was in relation to the little boy sleeping soundly upstairs. “I know. But we need to head out soon and I know you guys were in hell trying to get him to take his nap today. Just tell him I love him and I’ll be back tomorrow. If I can stop in before bed, I will, but no promises, depending on what we run into on the patrol.”

“Will we run into anything on the patrol?” Betty’s voice was tight with fear. Simply seeing the creatures shambling around at the Farm had put the fear of God into her heart, even with Jughead’s soft words and gentle ministrations with her hair. Firing the gun had left her with a complex littering of emotions she didn’t know how to explain. On one hand, there was the rush of power she felt chasing away the Diseased that were threatening the crops. On the other, this was not the turn of events she had ever expected her life to take and the cognitive dissonance she was experiencing was on another level.

“I doubt it. But you should always go mentally prepared for the worst, that way you aren’t caught off guard. You can stay here, if it’ll make you feel better, but I’ll have to come pick  you up before we head back home.”

His voice was betrayed by the sympathy in his eyes. She knew he thought she was weak, frightened, like an animal trapped in a cage with nowhere to go, like a lamb who still couldn’t walk on its feet. Well, she would show all of Riverdale the grit that made the Cooper women who they were. With a hug and a kiss to Veronica and a wave to Archie, she spun on her heels and followed him out the door. The basket Veronica had thrust into arms had two jars and a reminder that only one of them was for Jughead, no matter how much he begged and pleaded.

The first part of the walk was nearly silent except for the crunch of leaves under the heels of her boots. They were new -  a gift from Veronica from a collection of hand me downs that would aid in Betty’s transition from City life to Riverdale requirements. The soles were rubber and they were lined with something soft that kept her dry and warm despite the cool breeze in the air.

The ground was painted in technicolor swatches of browns and yellows and oranges. The many maple trees were shedding their leaves and leaving pits of themselves in the path of the town folks. Every crunch was a delight to her ears and she felt like a child, purposefully moving to make sure she stepped on as many of them as possible. It was a game her and Polly would play when they went to the park. It was the only place you could do things like this and during the fall and winter children were squished into the compact green space hurling snowballs or piling hills of autumn foliage high to jump into. She wondered what childhood at been like for Jughead and she bit her tongue to keep from asking.

And then she heard a crunch in time with hers. Crunch, crunch, crunch--a lovely little symphony constructed from nothing. Betty looked over in surprise to see him stomping right beside her. He focused mostly on the orange leaves or the few that were piled together by Mother Nature’s hand.

“You’re staring again,” he said softly, a smile playing on his lips. “You like to do that don’t you?”

“Maybe,” she answered, feeling bold. “But I think maybe you like me doing it.” 

Jughead laughed and shook his head. “You’re a strange girl, Betty Cooper. But I think you probably know that already.”

“I do.”

The silence then was less tense as they walked through the Market space. A few vendors were still out in the middle of the day, mostly those selling wares that wouldn’t spoil in the afternoon glow. Despite the coolness in the air it still wasn’t safe for things to be stored outside for too long. A strong gust of wind kicked up a few of the nonperishable items and she watched one man chase his goods halfway down the street.

The cold nipped again and she felt a shiver erupt down her spin. It was felt right down in her toes, where her thin stockings were already worn down from overuse back home. This was not the first time she regretted her lackluster packing job. Her fingers felt especially cold, unshielded in any way from the elements. She pulled her sweater down, hoping to give some warmth to at least her palm, bringing them to her lips and blowing hot air between them.

Jughead paused and that perpetual frown of his was back, along with the pity he always looked at her with. It was starting to get annoying and part of her wanted to smack it right off his face. “You’re cold.”

“Thank you, for that observation, Jughead, because without I wouldn’t have known.”

“Someone’s feeling prickly today. For a while there I thought you didn’t have a spine. Come here for a second.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her over to one of the booths.

A few stacks of blankets, gloves, and scarves were scattered around the table, all knit together with care. Betty’s eyes were wide as she studied the garments. Her mother had knit back home, more for a hobby than an actual need. Back home, in her room, there was a pink and blue scarf she’d tried to help her mother knit. It was poorly constructed, looking more like a blanket than a scarf, but always warm.

Jughead pulled out a pair of gloves and a scarf from the pile, scanning them for a few minutes before, apparently satisfied, turning to Betty and putting them on her. The wool warmed her fingers and protected some of the windchill from her neck. He was so constantly full of sweet surprises, catching her off guard and nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Jug I can’t--”

“Don’t,” he warned, plucking his jar out of the basket and handing it off to the elderly woman manning the counter. “Will this work for both of those? It’s Veronica’s apples.”

She nodded and smiled. “Of course, Jughead. Thanks for stopping by again. Make sure the Serpents come too and get clothes. I know your patrols go late and I’d hate for you all to get stuck in the cold with no way of keeping warm.”

“Will do. Thank you, Mrs. Smithers. Tell your husband I said hi and I hope his hand is healing okay.”

Betty suspected Mr. Smithers’ hand, much like Fred’s leg, was more or less never going to be okay again. But she kept her mouth shut as they left the stall trying to rationalize the hot and cold attitude Jughead often regarded her with. She was going to get whiplash soon and part of her wasn’t even that upset by it.

She pulled out her jar and opened the lid with a pop, offering it to him. “You gave yours up to buy me winter clothes because, like an idiot, I didn’t pack any. So thank you.”

He was hesitant for only a moment before greedily digging in. “I can never say no to food. Besides, I need it for where we’re going.”

“What exactly is a parameter check? I haven’t done one with you before.”

“Oh, that? It’s not actually what we’re doing. I just needed an excuse to get you away from Veronica for a little while. When Wyatt woke up he was going to be a monster and I’ve dealt with enough of those this week. Just relax and pretend to be excited when you see it, alright?”

With that frustratingly cryptic explanation, Betty follows him to their destination. She doesn’t bother to process the building’s dilapidation. A state of disrepair is a given with nearly all the Pre-Outbreak buildings that this town has. It looks a bit more like the town hall than most of them though, but still not  taken care. She can see the rickety wooden sign, gnawed through by termites, barely hanging on from rusted chains, but she makes out the carved image of an open book. She thinks that maybe, once upon a time, it was painted red. The color has faded now and looks more like the dusty rose glow the sky gets when the sun starts to fade into the horizon.

The sun. They rely so heavily on it here. In the City, thanks to the fluorescent glow of street lamps all through the night, the sun had been nothing more than a reminder of passing days you could check off a calendar box. Here every moment is tied so tightly to the position it holds in the sky. Right now it’s midday and the sky is blue. If it weren’t for the winter chill the sun might have felt warm against her skin; now it just serves to make her aggravate her wind-whipped cheeks.

Betty is vaguely aware of the fact that this is probably the library he told her about and the fact that he brought her here delights her in the strangest of ways. It feels less like an empty promise now and more like something said with purpose. Jughead doesn’t hate her, maybe even likes her enough to show him this little slice of heaven.

The inside is much better looking than she had expected it to be. The shelves are not falling apart, though there is a healthy supply of dust caked to most of the shelves and every time she tries to exhale a dust bunny tumbles over the heavy wood. It’s warm in here too, despite the fact that there’s no orange glow or low crackle from a fire. Maybe the Pre-Outbreak insulation had been better in here to keep the books dry and safe.

What surprises her the most is the bespectacled surly old woman sitting at the front. She’s got a large leather bound book open halfway through, but she flips the passes at a pace so alarmingly fast Betty can’t really be sure she’s actually reading it. When they approach the woman points to a little sign sitting at her station: BE QUIET. It’s wrinkled, old and yellowed, printed from one of the old machines lined up against the back wall. None of them turn on anymore she suspects and a few of them are knocked over and ripped open, scavenged for parts. There were computers in the City, but none that she had ever interacted with. They were reserved for the science labs and the Council members alone. When she was six, Betty had been lucky enough to sit on her mother’s lap and watch her click a few keys, stringing together letters and words before pressing a little button that made everything she’d said come out on a few streams of white paper. Now she knows it’s a computer, not a magic box that reads minds, and it’s a machine just like the cars she always worked on with her dad. They’re not identical but the mystery and wonder has long since faded away.

She wonders if anyone her age in Riverdale has any idea what these things do or if they sit and collect dust until someone with vague electrical knowledge comes to pry them open because something needs replacing and they’re too impatient to wait for the City Shipment. When they still got it. Even though the mayor was promised a few crates, they have yet to arrive. She had overheard Jughead and a few of his Serpents whispering about it a few nights ago, only to have it be confirmed by Kevin early in the morning over their rousing canning conversations. With every passing day, she sees more lines etched into Jughead’s skin, leaving marks on a face so young it shouldn’t have the worries it does. It makes her sad. Then again, most things in Riverdale leave her with the bitter taste of melancholy.

“Calm down, Sister Woodhouse,” Jughead rolls his eyes. “It’s just me. This is Betty Cooper, she’s new in town. I just wanted to show her around the library.”

“Very well, my child.” The old woman’s eyes light up when she gets a good look at Betty. Maybe it’s nostalgia in her eyes. Maybe something a little bit more sinister than that. “Would your mother happen to be Alice Cooper? Or I suppose she was Alice Smith when she was in our care.”

“Oh um... yes that was my mother. What do you mean my mother lived with you?”

The sister frowns and starts a story that Betty can already tell has Jughead rolling his eyes, looking for any excuse to make their escape. “She was a troubled girl with a troubled youth. Always running around with that gang of Serpents.”

“Those Serpents,” Jughead interrupts, “saved your life when you refused to leave your hellhole during the Outbreak even after it was under Ghoulie territory. So really, you should be thanking us. Anyway, Betty and I are going to the books now.”

He drags her off before anyone can speak anymore. Betty couldn’t help but look back, curious at what stories Sister Woodhouse might have about her mother. Alice was always secretive, holding things close to her chest, especially about Riverdale. She spoke briefly of the Southside Serpents, a story or two about Betty’s early childhood, and maybe one sentence about her own late mother. Other than that it was like she had taken a giant eraser to her past and carefully crafted a story she liked the sound of better.

“What do you mean you saved her from the Ghoulies? And where did she work before the first Outbreak?”

Jughead groans. “She’s harmless now unless you count being able to glare daggers. Sister Woodhouse is the only one that survived the Quiet Mercy Raid. Riverdale used to be a little bigger than this, stretching out further into the woods and closer to the River, but during the Outbreak, the Ghoulies saw it as their chance to encroach on territory and they mad a grab for the first building on our side - which was the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Dad told me it was a home for wayward youth that specialized in giving it’s patients psychological traumas instead of taking them away. When the Ghoulies raided the place, everyone scattered except Sister Woodhouse and it’s what ended up saving her life in the end. A few Serpents got her out but they still lost the building. So now she’s either leading Sunday service or she’s holed up in the library, bitterly glaring at anyone who comes in. That’s probably why no one does anymore. Other than the fact that there’s really just not enough time to read. I’ve taken Wyatt a few times and he really likes it.”

“She leads a church service? That doesn’t strike me as something that would be too common. We didn’t really have them back in the City.”

It wasn’t that no one believed in God - it was that religion fell under a category most people simply didn’t discuss. There were a million other things happening within their walls. Maybe once or twice Betty heard children whisper about prayers their parents said before bed, and in her own home Alice liked to read the Bible before bed, but it was something left inside the home and nothing more. In a strange way, she thinks people worshiped the Council more than any God.

“I’m not sure I believe in all that, but what I do know is if the Powers that Be can make people feel better than I don’t mind letting her have people bundle up in the Market Sunday mornings so she can preach to them. When you live like we do I think anything that helps you find peace is for the better. As long as she doesn’t talk Armageddon. I don’t need blind panic on my hands. I already deal with enough bullshit from people.”

Betty smiled and laughed. “I believe that.”

The silence was one of the few they shared that was not uncomfortable. More and more they were having those and it was nice to be around someone who appreciated the weight of empty air. Veronica and Kevin were people who craved to fill it, just like Reggie had been back home. That was one of the reasons she had loved her visits with Cheryl when they would sit in silence and simply enjoy each other’s presence.

Jughead led them to a section near the back labeled  _ CLASSICS _ . She can tell the path is well worn and the pages of nearly every book she spots have been loved. In a moment of indulgence, Betty allows herself to imagine what a little Jughead might be like, a black of mop hair hidden under an ill-fitting hat sneaking into the library under the watchful gaze of a grumpy nun turned librarian. He would trace his fingers along the imprinted spines until he caught a title he liked most and plucked it from the shelves. There’s a little chair tucked into the furthest corner of the nook and she’s sure that was where he spent what few restful days he had. She wonders how many friends he had growing up. There’s a closeness between him and Archie that must have been cultivated by countless years of loyalty.

How would Veronica have fit in? Kevin? Archie always glows so brightly, drawing people in like moths to a flame, but she can tell Jughead prefers to stay in the shadows. It hits her then, another question, how many little moths got caught in the flames and never made it out of the fire? The thought sickens her and she tucks it as far away as it will go, back into the depths of her darkness from whence it came, and instead focuses on the book Jughead is pulling the shelf.

“I read this one all the time growing up,” he says softly and Betty realizes it’s the first thing he’s said about his past that isn’t pure speculation on her part. It’s exciting to have him share even just a small piece of himself with her.

Jughead offers her the book and she takes it, excited yes, but mostly delighted to feel the softness of worn pages against her fingertips and hear the crack of a spin. She traces the gold print:  _ FRANKENSTEIN. _ It’s a classic she’s heard of but never had the chance to read herself.

“What’s it about?”

“A man who creates a monster out of dead parts.”

Betty stares at him, unblinking, and then she laughs, surprised when she hears him laughing right along with her. “You were a macabre kid, weren’t you?”

“That’s one way of putting it. I think I had to be. The way my dad taught me growing up it wasn’t...it was never what you had in the City, I’m guessing. I was raised to lead the Serpents because someone had to and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be him for any longer than it had to be. He hated that job which is why when I turned fifteen he sent me on my first solo mission. General recon from Greendale. I nearly got turned twice but I made my way back and you know what he did? He patted me on the back and said ‘atta boy’ and then started making moonshine in some secret shed in the middle of the forest, leaving me to take care of a ragtag group of former bikers turned militia.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on anyone, but only fifteen? Seems early to me but you’re right. My biggest worry was what color pencils I was going to bring to class. Or if my brother was going to make it home that night. He was a police officer before he retired. It was a forced retirement,” she explains, unable to meet his eyes as she flips through the pages of the book. There are a few notes doodled in the margins that she manages to make out as his. The print has faded with time and some of the words she can tell were rewritten in by a clumsy child’s hands. It’s a little piece of him and it’s utterly endearing. “He broke his leg and they put him on the reserves after that. Which was fine, really. You’re only required to serve two years in the police force.”

“Required? The City makes requires you to do what? Walk around the streets in the dead of night hunting Diseased?” He’s obviously surprised by what she’s said. From what she gathers the Serpents are not an opt-in or opt-out organization, simply a lineage that must be followed through, with the occasional invitation extended to a worthy outsider.

“Yes. I mean, they’re supposed to. There are….workarounds for it. You can do other public service jobs. I was a teacher for elementary school so I never had to, and Polly is….” she pauses, choking on her words to correct herself. “Polly  _ was  _ the middle child so she got out of some of that responsibility. Chic offered to take her years for her and since my mom is on the Council they overlooked it.”

He nods in understanding and plucks a few more books from the shelves, putting them inside their basket. They knock against the empty jar and a cling rings out in the space. Sister Woodhouse shushes them from far away. It all feels extraordinarily normal, trapped inside here. There are really no windows, no way to tell what the outside world is like, and it’s like she’s been transported to a time before when the world was less cruel and fear wasn’t the emotion that dictated your every movement. She wonders if she ever came here with Chic and Polly before they left. Or maybe she came here with her father. A thin familiarity buzzes at the peripherals of her brain but she can’t pull anything coherent from it.

Betty understands why he must have liked it in here growing up so much. In here you can pretend, even for a few fleeting moments, that you’re tucked away and safe. For someone like him, she thinks those moments are vital to survival.

“You know, I don’t know a lot about you, Jughead, and we live together, sleep in the same bed together. That feels kind of….”

“Weird?”

She smiles. “That’s a good word for it.”

“Don’t take it to heart. Not many people know anything about me. I do it on purpose.”

“Why? Doesn’t that get lonely? It wouldn’t hurt to be able to talk to each other, hold a conversation, maybe even be friends. I know I didn’t enter Riverdale or your life on the best of terms but I don’t want it to stay that way.”

“I’m not trying to be callous,” he said finally and she could tell by the slowness of his speech he was choosing his words carefully, “but I limit the number of people I’m close to because I have to be resigned to the knowledge that one day, we are all going to die and in my line of work, probably soon. Sweet Pea, Fangs, Toni, and even Cheryl? I can’t protect them. They’re out there on the front lines just like I am every day and I know that one day I’m going to have to bury one of them or they’re going to have to bury me. 

“I do everything I can to make sure Archie, Veronica, Wyatt, and Fred are okay and I still don’t do enough. Fred lost his leg and he could have lost a whole hell of a lot more. Don’t take this the wrong way when I say I mentally can’t afford another person’s life on my shoulders.”

“That’s an unfair burden,” she says softly. “To place on yourself but them too.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

They find themselves in the kids section next. She can tell it’s been raided a few times already, judging by the missing spaces where the dust layer is lesser than the others. “I’d love to come here one day, with Wyatt. I miss teaching.”

“I’m sure Veronica would be more than willing to let you babysit for a few hours. I’ll come with you, to make sure you’re safe. He’s a smart kid who understands a lot but sometimes he makes too much noise. While we’re here Miss Cooper, any recommendations on what to bring to him?”

Betty lights up, smile wide and genuine as she starts picking books for someone his age. She wants to find him things that he can read on his own, or at least try to, making out basic patterns in words and letters. Maybe she grabs too many though,  because soon their basket is overflowing and the novels they stole for themselves are but a footnote at the bottom of the basket. Jughead laughs, shaking his head.

“Come on. Let’s head home. I don’t know what time it is outside but we can finish our rounds, make a quick stop at the Wyrm to make sure everyone’s got their placements tonight, and then head home. You have a date with a classic.”

“Oh, is this where you ask for my running commentary?” she teases.

“I would never. But I want a full plot summary after each chapter. No skipping on details either. This is a serious assignment for a serious teacher. Is that how school works? Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Close. Very close. I’ll make sure to write it on lined paper in pencil, not crayon. That was a big problem I had. Always crayons. It’s harder than it seems to read blocky red crayon.” She looked back at Sister Woodhouse, feeling her eyes on the back of her head. “It’s okay if we just leave with this? Don’t we have to check them out.”

Jughead smiled, leaning in close to whisper. “Betty, I don’t know if you know this, but she’s not a real librarian.”

It felt so silly, so unreal, that she laughed again, leaving the library feeling a little bit better than she had entered it. The Whyte Wyrm never really changes. It still has the same boarded up walls and banged up furniture. There’s still bullet holes in one of the posters she doesn’t ask questions about but suspects might be Sweet Pea’s doing because every time someone’s eyes linger on it for too long he makes a loud noise to distract them. Usually, it involves banging a cue stick against the nearest surface and telling a story no one believes is true and yet humors him by asking questions.

She almost thinks she might like it here. And it isn’t just because her favorite Cheryl Blossom is around to throw some sage albeit scathing advice on whatever sense of melancholy has gotten its fangs on her pulse that day. Today there is no swatch of furious red hair and it makes her a little sad, but she suspects her sister-in-law and her wife are enjoying the small bits of alone time they get on their joint days off.  Betty suspects Jughead might have a hand in those arrangements. Not that he would ever admit to that because how dare she suggest anything that might absolutely ruin his image as a hardened militia leader.

They never linger at the Wyrm for any longer than they have to. It’s probably, in part, because she’s learned that Jughead would rather drink oil than accidentally run into his father, who frequents the bar more than most places to pawn off his moonshine for more than just medical necessity, on nights he’s supposed to have off. Another aspect of it is probably the distrust that everyone regards her with. It can be off-putting from a distance, but experiencing it is decidedly something she hates. There’s nothing like the feeling of eight sets of eyes studying every minute movement you make and waiting for your breath to hitch wrong so they can stand up and scream zombie. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been here. The people might trust her a little bit more, but these trained hunters do not. On her side, she has Cheryl, by extension Toni, and perhaps enough of Jughead and FP that she’ll remain safe as long as she doesn’t step too far out of line.

It’s infuriating. The entire rigmarole pisses her off and makes her want to start biting heads. So instead she snips in her head. When the man behind the bar glares, she makes remarks about the color of his eyepatch clashing with his tacky bar decor. When shop owners whisper, she decides their wares are about as ineptly made as what her primary school kids would give to her at the end of their projects. It is incredibly petty but it certainly makes her feel better at the end of the day.

What doesn’t make her feel better is the fact that she feels like they’re right. It nags at her brain, this uselessness she feels like she’s accruing. Her mother would nag her until her ears bled.  _ Idle hands never do good, Betty.  _ She needs to figure out something she can feel pride in and soon before she explodes.

Thankfully, the meeting tonight takes maybe ten minutes and then they’re walking back towards his little cabin in the late glow of the setting sun. She loves the feel of it trailing goodbye kisses along her back as it disappears and dips below the horizon. There’s a few minutes left of fading light as they clamber into the space. It’s colder inside than it was outside but Jughead makes quick work setting their fire going. Immediately the area becomes illuminated again.

Betty watches his nightly ritual with curiosity like she always does; it’s the same every night. He checks every window on the bottom floor and then deliberately climbs up each step. She can hear him knock at the boards up there too, even though there’s no way in hell anything in the dead of night would be nimble enough to reach, not with their stiff bones and labored movements. Diseased are slow because they’re humans that are sick--morphed and messy, but versions of humanity nonetheless. The same way someone with a cold is sluggish in their movements so are these. It’s just a cold isn’t slowly rotting you from the inside out, at least not the way whatever is wrong with these people is.

Once he’s done knocking on every surface and locking the windows tight, he checks the doors, sliding the huge wooden bar into place. She’s seen them on every door in every building she’s gone into. The Diseased aren’t strong so they’d probably never be able to break a door down, let alone a thick slab of wood, but she would be lying if she said the extra barrier doesn’t help her sleep a little easier at night amidst the few pained moans that make it through the border patrols and wire fence.

Jughead counts each log of wood and then counts it again to be sure. He checks the cupboards for food before making a list of what they’ll need to find at the market for tomorrow. Tonight’s list is longer, she notices, as he mumbles it to himself, which gives her more time to look around before she’s shuffled upstairs to the bedroom. Then they’ll sit in silence with their books until one of them falls asleep.

The living room isn’t a place she spends much time. Even when her nights are restless she doesn’t dare leave the comfort of the bedroom, tucked in bed with a man she knows will keep her safe. Even if he doesn’t really like her, and despite his speech today she thinks he actually might, at least a little bit -she knows he would never let her die. If nothing else it would be a messy cleanup and a shouting match with his father he doesn’t want. 

But the bedroom is getting colder as the air does, so it’s nice to be tucked into a pocket of warmth. The sofa is painfully uncomfortable. There are loose springs and fluff chunks missing from wear and old age, covered up by a knit blanket she notices to be Veronica’s handiwork--probably a thank you gift of some kind. She watches as the embers spark and the wood crackles black, enamored with the dance the flames do, whipping against their brick enclosure, trying desperately to break free. They scorch the glass of the fireplace and turn the metal bars white hot. Part of her wants to reach out and touch it, but the barely healed scrapes and aches of her body protest in defiance so she chases her wickeder thoughts away and is content to watch instead.

The light illuminates Jughead’s home in interesting ways. Every flicker of fire chases across the glass of a hung picture. Her eyes come to rest on the one that rests on the banister, surprised she hadn’t noticed it before. Even back home not many people have pictures from past the First Outbreak. It’s considered a luxury, yes, but frankly, there isn’t much to be snapping pictures of when you’re trapped inside the same City whose paths you’ve walked every day you're entire life. What excitement are you trying to remember by gazing into the vacant smiles of your former self?

She looks into the kitchen. He seems preoccupied still, scratching his list onto a loose slip of paper so he doesn’t forget it. It’s got every day of this week’s list crammed together on there so he isn’t wasting valuable resources but with his chicken scratch, it’s likely impossible to tell what is supposed to go where. He might be deciphering for hours to come if she’s honest.

Betty stands and reaches for the picture frame, blowing away some of the dust that’s collected there from years of neglect. It looks like a family photo, taken when Jughead’s eyes were a little less weary and his soul a little less hardened. His teeth are too big for his body and so are his ears. He’s still wearing his hat though it fits him a little less snuggly. Behind him is his father even if she can barely recognize him with a clean shave. Beside them is a woman holding a little girl, who she thinks might be two, with little blonde pigtails that hardly match her dark-haired family, tied off two mismatching bows.

It looks, surprisingly, Post-Outbreak. The structures behind them look worn down and guessing Jughead’s age as close to hers he’s much too old in this photo for it to be taken before the Diseased started shambling around the world. She studies the woman’s face again and frowns. There’s a flicker of familiarity there that she can’t quite place, like someone she’s met at a street corner during the lunch rush, or a face on the morning commute that always looks unhappy with the surroundings. Those two little star tattoos are certainly distinct and she files that information away to be revisited at a later date.

Just as she’s setting the photo back down she hears the thump of the couch sagging under pressure and turns to see Jughead’s raised eyebrow. He speaks before she can ask her question. “Toni and I found an old Polaroid camera in a pile of trash near the outskirts one day. We weren’t even supposed to be there but we snuck out because Sweet Pea said we were too chicken to go to the fence. There were two pictures left on it so we decided she got one and I got one. Toni took a picture of the sunrise and I got a picture of my family.”

She’s sure there’s a sad story that might follow. All stories nowadays are sad and she certainly hasn’t seen a little sister or a mother running around. Part of her hopes they’re in the City -safe -and then that thought is quickly tossed into the pits of hell because no, no that wouldn’t be safe for them at all anymore. She’s not sure which is a worse fate. Dying in your home, or going a place you’re promised to be safe only to meet the same end.

“Three years after that picture was taken they were taking a bus to the City, to get out, because my mom said we were going to die here and she refused to watch Riverdale crash and burn, and the bus flipped. We were getting attacked left and right by the Ghoulies. I don’t know if I blame her for leaving, but I blame her for taking Jellybean. Apparently, there were no survivors. At least that’s what people said. The bus never made it in so I can only guess that’s true.”

The worst of both options then. Dying while fleeing your home in fear. Betty bites the inside of her cheek until she can taste the sharp tang of metal on her tongue and has to pull back. “I’m sorry, Jughead. I get why you don’t trust that place.”

“No. You don’t. I don’t just trust it because my sister and my mother died trying to get there, I don’t trust it because every single communication I’ve ever sat in on has involved them shafting Riverdale because they don’t want to waste money or time or resources on a township until they remember we’re the only reason they’re getting the food and raw materials they need. They didn’t even send a shipment in today, but they don’t realize they need us more than we need them. We can make due. We can make basics. It’s remedial and crude, but we can make medicine and clothes and wool, but what can you do in the City, Betty? What is it they taught you to do there other than cowering in fear every night?”

It feels like a question she’s asked herself a million times these last few days. Jughead might as well have reached into her heart and pulled out her greatest existential fear and shoved it right back in her face. So it’s a surprise to both of them when there’s an answer to his rhetorical question.

“I can fix cars. I got into the hobby with my older brother. My dad taught him, so he taught me to sort of close out the cycle. Polly, my sister, she never wanted to learn, but I did. So I can fix cars. And things related to cars. Engines, generators. I’m a mechanic.”

“Oh.” She can tell he’s a bit in awe and it makes her smug with pride.

“I’m not some waif,” her voice is soft as she takes a seat beside him. “Yes, I’m from the City and no I’m not taught like you are how to keep myself safe from the spooky things that go bump in the night. But I know things that could help, if I’m given the chance to use it. Because my mom was on the Council I know a few things about the Diseased that might make things easier, give you and the Serpents information. I can talk to the Mayor about things that the City was always short on, that they’d be willing to give an arm and a leg for I bet. I want to carry my weight here and prove I’m worth something more than the girl who delivers cans of Lodge preserves.”

She pauses and clarifies, “Not that there’s anything wrong, with that. Veronica’s business venture is impressive.”

“She’s a Lodge. They apparently owned a massive multi-million dollar company before the world went to trash. I’m not surprised that’s how she decided to make her living.” Jughead always speaks about the Lodge-Andrews clan with a fondness that makes her heart warm. She wonders if anyone has ever talked about her with that kind of softness in their eyes and gentleness in their words. Probably not, but a girl can allow herself a hopeful ‘maybe one day’ when times are as rough as they are.

“You love them.”

He doesn’t fight her on this observation, instead, he simply nods. “I do. All of them. Even Veronica, in a way that makes me want to throw her out a window.”

Betty watches him fiddle with the blue of his jeans, calloused hands rubbing the worn-through fabric. He’s kicked off his boots. It makes sense, they’re in his house and he’s allowed to be comfortable, even though she herself refuses to lose any clothing unless she’s locked firmly in the bathroom. It’s not fear of him more than a force of habit sharing two bathrooms with two siblings who both hate knocking and/or stealing her clothing.

The basket is still sitting on the table, filled mostly with books for Wyatt. She smiles and plucks out the copy of Frankenstein he had chosen for her. Maybe they can read out here tonight, curled up close to the fire, instead of in the coldness of the bedroom.

Jughead has the same the thoughts, something she’s grateful for, as he reaches for his own well-worn copy and flips to the first page. It’s strangely comfortable like this. Betty even kicks off her shoes and curls her feet underneath her to keep warm. The blanket slips off the back of the couch and around their shoulders at some point as they wiggle closer together. Neither of them comments on it, but they don’t exactly move to change the position either.

With the soft crackle in her ear and the gentle hums of approval he keeps making beside her, Betty feels her eyelids start to go heavy. It doesn’t take long until sleep catches her in its warm embrace and she’s lulled to an easy rest.

That is, until, the loud bang on the door jolts her away. It’s enough to nearly send her heart into a frenzy. Someone broke in. Someone’s coming to get them. Or worse, something slow and steady filled with nothing but hunger to rip them apart and tear into their flesh. There isn’t enough time to even register how close her and Jughead must have been while they slept, tangled together on the couch so thoroughly that she thinks she might smell a little bit like him.

He pulls out a gun from somewhere--she’s too nervous to ask and too frazzled to look--and cocks it before he moves to the door. It looks like he’s about to speak when the thump happens again and she can make out muffled words. The person raises their voice just as she peers through the small gap in the wooden slats to see a flash of brilliant red hair.

“Jones! There’s an emergency,” Toni’s voice comes through clearly now, which would be a relief if it weren’t for the actual words she was saying. “One of those fuckers clawed into the power lines and got at the generator. Half the powers out in town which means so are the lights at the Farm and the Market.”

The lights. She knows how important the lights are, how important they were even in the City where patrols were ten times heavier than in little Riverdale because they have the numbers for six-unit sweeps every fifteen minutes. She knows even before Jughead’s face pales that this spells trouble. Quickly, he’s unbolting the door, checking the area outside before he lets Toni and Cheryl into his house. It’s pitch black outside. Not even the stars are out tonight.

“How many?” Jughead’s voice is thick with worry and Betty knows she’s never seen him so scared, with such desperation and fear in his eyes. “How many are out?”

“Just two. Sweet’s is handling the one on the opposite side of town with Fangs and Hog Eye as back up. They said they have things over there but the fuckers are getting bolder with the lights out on the Southern half of the parameter. You know, right next to the Farm. But he’s fixing it and we don’t have anyone else to fix the other one.”

“Not when DILF Serpent is currently MIA anyway,” Cheryl cuts in. She’s got venom running through her veins, a heart of fire and ice, but even she’s afraid. Betty’s known her long enough to be able to see the slight shake in her hands and the way her voice waivers on the insults. “So what’s the call defacto?”

It’s no wonder that Jughead’s always tired. If these are how his nights of rest go she can only imagine how terrible it must be when he’s the one walking along the wall. The weight of the world rests on his shoulders and she can see the lines it carves in his features with every shaky breath he takes. His soul is worn down with worry.

“I...I don’t know. I don’t know, fuck, give me a second to think. How big is the horde by the Farm generator?”

Toni jumps in to answer, “Not massive, but the longer the lights are off the bigger it’ll get and we need what we have in storage, since food supply is obviously not going to be supplemented by the City with their late shipments. Still no word from Keller on if those are every coming in.”

“We could fight them back until Sweet Pea finishes. He’s halfway done and we can keep them off our back to by him time,” Cheryl interjects.

Jughead shakes his head, pacing so quickly Betty thinks he might wear a circular hole right through his floorboards. “No. No that’s way too risky. The longer the lights are off the more that are going to come. They’ll get bigger, we’ll get smaller. We can’t risk it, but we can’t risk leaving the food supplies unattended. Shit. Fucking shit. Fred’s still healing so we can’t exactly barge into the Andrews house and ask them for help. He’d try but I’m not sure how safe anyone would feel having him out in a fight like this with only one leg. He can’t run if something goes sideways. And no one’s seen my dad?” The silence from both of them is nearly deafening. “Of course not. Useless fuck. Maybe we--”

“Let me go,” Betty is nearly as surprised by the sound of her own voice as everyone else in the room is. She tries to sit a little straighter on the couch and steal her expression from the judgements. “To fix it. I’ve never worked on one of yours so it might take me a minute, but I’ve worked machinery before, engines, that sort of thing. I can at least try to tinker with it, fix enough until Sweet Pea can come and finish up the rest of it. That way you aren’t fighting off Diseased while nothing’s being done on the generator. I know it’s kind of a long shot, since there’s no way to guarantee I know what I’m doing until I take a look at it, but I want to try. Please. Please let me try.”

Cheryl hops in to aid in her plea. “I’ve seen Betty around things like this before. I used to watch her and her blonde Adonis brother fiddle with things for hours sometimes. She’s quick and clever. Worst case scenario she can’t do anything with it but we at least tried.”

“No,” Toni cuts in, “Worst case scenario is we bring her out there, someone who’s never been in the middle of a bloodbath before, she panics, tries to run, and you’re down another family member, Cher. Like hell, we’re letting her run out there with no preparation. She’s as good as dead if we do it.”

Betty stands, panicked now. She has to do this. She has to prove to them she’s worthwhile, has to take this moment and do something, anything, to save the place that took her when there was nowhere else to go. If Riverdale falls, where then? Back to the quarantined City? No, she knows if anything happens to the sleepy little town on the water’s edge than she’s as good as dead, buried in a mass grave to be munched upon when the hordes get hungry.

“This is the only option you have. Let me do this. Please.”

Toni still looks hesitant, but she sees Jughead’s shoulders relax as he nods once. “How quick do you think you can work?”

“I won’t know until I get there and see exactly what it is I’m working with. If it’s something I’ve fiddled with before I can have it up quickly. I’ll need someone close by to run me spare parts if there are any. Are there any?”

“There are. They’re at the Wyrm. Cheryl and I can run and grab them on our way there and check in with Sweets before we meet you two at the generator. But we need to move fast and now or we’re in for more hell then we already are.”

Jugheads pulls his jacket off the rack and tosses one to Betty. “It’s cold out here at night. You need that. Move quick, move quiet, and do what I say or you’ll get killed. Cheryl, when you guys make it I want you to hang back, on a roof if you can, sniping from up high. Toni only get close if you have to. I want you making runs for parts if I call for them, which means you’ll both need to stay in earshot. Make sure Sweets knows the game plan in case anything happens while we’re out there tonight. I want your eyes on the Farm and us. If you see one of those fuckers running their way in, get them before they can do damage. Understood?”

“Understood.” Betty nods. “Quick. Fast. If I don’t think I can do it I’ll tell you so.”

“Good. Alright. Move out. In unity, there is strength.”

“In unity, there is strength,” Cheryl and Toni repeat in unison, before they separate, moving through the darkness as fast as they can.

Betty makes a mental note to ask him what that means later. She’s heard it a handful of times, said among members, as a greeting or like a prayer before they head out on the missions they have been assigned. Asking now doesn’t feel appropriate when there’s nothing but fear hanging in the tightly woven air. She looks up at the sky to ask for answers but the light glow of the moon feels like it mocks her with every hurried step she takes.

It’s hard to keep up with him. A few times she fumbles and nearly falls to the ground, only to feel his strong grip on her arm, guiding her forward through the trees, avoiding roots jutting out from the ground. Everything is bathed in the blue of moonlight. She can practically taste the fear in the air. As they pass through Riverdale’s cul-de-sac’s she wonders if any of them know the danger they face or if they remind blind and ignorant to the true trials the Serpents go through to keep them safe and sound in their beds at night. She wonders if anyone is truly aware of the sacrifices Jughead himself makes all thanks to a burden thrust upon him by an inept father in a cruel world.

There are a few lone stragglers and Betty does her best to keep her eyes downcast when she passes them. They aren’t quick enough to catch them or even notice the two humans creeping by. She’s grateful for the way the disease eats their brains but pity creeps at her senses even when she wished it wouldn’t. Monsters or not, they are humans, not some other entity like many people make them out to be. At their core, their root, their DNA, the people in Riverdale and the Diseased are made of the very same stuff. It’s a frightening thought, to think about a neighbor eating your legs, so she thinks it’s easier for everyone to explain it away like a ghoul or a ghost going bump in the night. It probably makes it easier to shoot to kill too.

There’s a few bodies crumpled on the ground, rotting already so she knows that they’re Diseased. She wonders how they plan to clean the mess Cheryl’s made up before the people flock to the Market for their early morning exchanges. It occurs to her then, that if you live in Riverdale, you’re probably used to the sickening scent of rot in the morning. She’s reminded again how far away from home she truly is and the luxuries she had been afforded. But this is her chance to make good with her new home, to prove her dedication and her loyalty are here and she will fight with everything in her power to make this right.

The generator is tucked away. She half expected it to be crawling with a horde of Diseased, their guttural moans disrupting the freezing night air and making her sick to her stomach. There are a few stragglers around she hopes they can sneak past. Apparently, that isn’t Jughead’s plan. The first one he spots gets a bullet in the back of the head. The noise makes the others scatter and Betty gasp. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor. On the wall of the building beside them. Bits of flesh and chunks of brain are enough to make her woozy and she’s transported back to the night in her house where the tiles ran red -when sister shot sister and mother cleaned up the mess.

She steals herself, biting the inside of her tongue as she rushes forward to the generator. It doesn’t look too different than the things she worked on with Chic. Its Pre-Outbreak technology but most of what they fiddled with was too. It’s sturdy, but all the rust practically appalls her. There’s a toolkit waiting there, loaded with what she needs as well as a few spare parts she was promised. It’s a gift from the two guardian angels perched high above. In a lot of ways, they’re what separates her from death. Them and a single very tired, very pissed off man with a gun and a nail-studded baseball bat.

The quiet is eerie with nothing more than the pop and crank of the generator heaving under the pressure of her movements and the shuffle of heavy decayed feet through the frozen earth. With every inhuman noise she overhears, the hair on the back of her neck stands at full attention. It’s hard to focus, but she knows she has to, blocking out everything but the generator before her and the prize that waits at the end. Freedom. Safety. For her and everyone else in Riverdale.

It starts to whirl. The noise is less worrisome than it was before and she sees the lights overhead flicker. It looks like the generator flooded. It’s not ideal but she spots a replacement air filter in the box and thanks her lucky stars. Hopefully, the problem over on Sweet Pea’s end doesn’t require one of these because she doubts the town has many more to spare.

“This will only take a few minutes,” she promises.

Relief is apparent in Jughead’s words and the way he relaxes his shoulders. “Thank God. You can really fix it?”

“Lucky you, Cooper girls are good with their hands.”

“Is that so? Just with engines or other things too?” She can’t see the smile on his face, but she’s sure it’s there.

Her cheeks turn pink and she fights back a smile. If Betty didn’t know any better, she might have thought Jughead Jones, the Serpent Prince, was flirting with her. It’s been a long time since attention like that has been sent her way. In any other situation it would be welcome, but right now it’s like breathing in the cleanest kind of air and helps level her head so the maggots of stress can’t eat their way through and make her hands shake any more than they already are.

The generator starts to whirl and the lights flicker back on. She hears a few hisses as the creatures start to stumble back, away from the one thing they hate most of all. She sees a few more lights flicker on in the distances and hopes that means Sweet Pea has held up his end of the bargain. Betty turns to Jughead, glowing with pride and she thinks, even briefly, that he might be smiling at her. It’s hard to make it out in the dark but she knows she’s done good tonight.

“Look out!” Cheryl’s voice shatters the heavy quiet as her arrow lands with a thunk in the dirt, inches from a Disease. This one is tenacious. Despite the way the light makes his skin sizzle and the pain on his features, he fumbles forward and blindly reaches out. He’s quicker than the others and the surprise gives him an advantage. Within the blink of an eye, Jughead is down.

It’s the crunch that scares her most, the blood she sees splatter the ground and the shout of pain that reverberates through the air. A series of bad luck and the man who’s supposed to be protecting her has found himself underneath a hulking creature that wants his flesh and still has enough muscle mass to fight for it. 

She spots the blood in his hair, glittering under the moonlight, and she gathers he must have hit his head on something as he fell. The man is large, body thick from his life before the sickness consumed his rationality and turned him into a bloodthirsty shell of himself. Jughead fights him back as best he can, but there’s blood, so much blood, and Betty knows he’s going to get weak. Toni won’t get to him in time. No one will. Not with the way the man’s jaw is gnashing down in desperation.

She blinks once and the decision is made before the thought really manifests in her mind. Betty grabs the bat Jughead brings everywhere and swings as hard as she can. The crunch is sickening and she watches as his skull splits open where the nails drive right through his brain. Blood. So much blood. She pulls the back, watching as the man collapses forward, eyes glazed and empty as the life ebbs away. It’s the same look she saw in the attic. It looks like peace, but maybe that’s naivety.

Cheryl and Toni are here now, and they manage to heave the body off of Jughead. His head is bleeding, but not as bad as she thought it might be. The black of his hair is matted down with red and the exhaustion on his features is even more undeniable than it was before. But he’s alive and it’s all thanks to her.

“That was one hell of a swing, Cooper.” He smiles then, undeniable and wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he dares to laugh. “Good thing I saw it coming and managed to close my mouth in time.”

The gleam in Cheryl’s eyes would be frightening if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She might faint in the next few minutes, but for now, she feels like a God. Tonight she’s proved herself. Her sister-in-law throws her arms around her. “I think it’s about time we teach you how to properly fight.”

“I think,” Jughead says cautiously, “That you might be right about that. I don’t think I ever properly welcomed you to Riverdale, Betty. I’m sure as hell glad to have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're figuring it out! Betty and Jughead are...certianly...figuring it out? Maybe? I swear I didn't intend for this to be the slow burn it is but sometimes I forget that when you've got a minimum of 10k every chapter things get a little bit long winded. Regardless I hope you're all enjoying my little niche love!
> 
> (speaking of niche things, i've been thinking about writing a survival au, where the riverdale cast gets stranded somewhere. hmmm well see.)
> 
> Love to you all!


	4. Bringing a Knife to a Zombie Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being with me on this fic adventure! I love writing it and this is just...it's a fic that I love writing more than anything in the entire world. It's always nice to sit down and write it out because I feel good just typing away in this universe. As always my beta deserves a never ending stream of kisses to how amazing she is, so give @miss-eee just an outpouring of love because I know I do.
> 
> TW for this chapter: descriptions of violence and blood

The Serpents - rough, disciplined, like a well-oiled machine - are not an easy group of people to train under. When Jughead had first brought the matter of Betty’s potential induction into their ranks to those in the Whyte Wyrm, the bar had been plunged into momentary chaos, where brother turned on brother to say their piece about the Cityborn outsider. No matter how much he whistled or shouted, they ignored their leaders’ protests and spiraled into unrest. It was not until Cheryl broke a bottle on the pool table and with piercing eyes and venom in her voice, announced that if they were going to start banning City people she was going to pack up her bow and arrows now, leaving them without her much-respected aid in the midst of crisis. After that, it was easier to reign in the arguments.

There was still chatter, whispers of unhappiness, but with the City communication fractured at best, they could use every hand that was offered to them to keep the peace in Riverdale. As Jughead walked her to the training grounds to begin her first day, she’s anxious. There are whispers behind her back. With every step, she can feel curious and disbelieving eyes on her. They don’t trust her, they might never, so there is a lot before her she has to prove.

“It’ll be okay,” Jughead assures her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Fangs is a few feet away, pulling off his shirt so he can tie it around his waist. She’s training with him first. Hand to hand combat, which, while not the ideal option, is vital for when the Ghoulies attack. Only Fangs himself is foolish enough to try a punch a Diseased in the face, but he’s got the hardest hit around and he’s not dead yet. A Serpent miracle, by all standards.

Ever since she saved his life, Jughead has been softer with her. It’s nice in some ways to not feel like a complete outcast in the house she’s staying in. He’s still rough cautiously looking at her through narrowed eyes when he thinks she’s not watching, still jumpy if she moves too quickly. But there’s a trust there she hadn’t expected to find. Just last night he had leaned over on the couch and flipped the pages in her book, pressed so close to her shoulder that Betty nearly blushed and her hands shook so badly it was impossible to actually read the words in front of her.

There was no denying his intoxicating nature. When he moved, slinking like a cat through the darkness, Betty watched enraptured by his steady and purposeful movements. Even as he walked around their little cabin she found her eyes drawn to him. Judging by the little smirk she would always see tugging at the corners of his mouth, he knew she was watching and maybe he even liked it.

“Don’t go easy on her, but remember she wasn’t raised a Serpent, Fangs. And if you break anything she gets to break it back,” Jughead warns.

The man waves him off with a grin and a laugh. “Come on, Jones, I would never. If there’s anyone who should get that lecture it’s Toni. She fights dirty.”

“Just because you fell for me pointing at a bird doesn’t mean I fight dirty. It means you need to be a little less gullible.” Toni’s sitting on the roof of an old house with collapses in the exterior, next to Cheryl who’s eying them all like an owl on her perch - ready and waiting to pounce at any moment.

It feels like everyone she knows from the Serpents is here to watch her. Nearly everyone, as Sweet Pea is on rounds with Hog Eye and FP has been missing ever since she got here. But to say she actually knows FP is a stretch when, as far as she can tell, not even his own son really does. He’s an enigma wrapped in confusion.

With all these eyes on her, she feels the pressure rise--the same sort of tightness she always got in her chest before she handed over her report card for her mother. In the back of her mind, she hears Alice’s nagging.  _ Don’t look a fool in front of them, Elizabeth. You certainly have a lot to prove.  _ Squaring her shoulders, Betty tries to recall all the self-defense tactics Chic had once taught her. They were few and far between -every time her mother caught them practicing she would shoo them apart and drag Chic into the kitchen by his ear for a long-winded scolding. For the first time in her life, she wishes that she had been allowed her time to serve in the police force. Perhaps all the bureaucratic nonsense of it wasn’t for her but at least she would have the basic knowledge to keep her afloat in the strange town of Riverdale.

Hot Dog appears from the ether like he always does and sits beside his favorite master, which is Jughead, but only because he’s ripping apart a piece of dried beef and the dog knows if he makes his face cute enough and whimpers the Serpent Prince will rip a few bits off and toss it to him. It’s about survival -even a pup knows how to keep his wits about him so he doesn’t die. He came to the warmth of a fire and the comfort of people, nipping at their scraps and warming up under their affections. In some ways, it’s a bit like what she did.

Betty wonders how Hot Dog looked when he first stumbled into Riverdale. Was he at all like her? Weak and helpless, looking so pitiful those with more power took pity on her. Were there loyalties of other dogs that had whispered about this encampment of youth with bleeding hearts for strays like her mother had done? Was he wet and matted, with bleeding feet and bleeding hands, covered in dirt and grime and fear? She wonders what she looked like to all of them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jughead reach down and runs a hand through Hot Dog’s fur, the same tender touch she had gotten the night his calloused fingers weaved strips of cloth around her wounds. There’s the ghost of a smile on his lips when his eyes meet hers. No matter how hard he tries to snuff it out, there’s a warmth that radiates off of him, the comfort of someone who wants to help more than they fear the repercussions of it. Betty pulls her ponytail tight and turns to Fangs with a smile.

“Alright. I’m ready. Hit me with your best shot.”

The day is hard. Harder than she could ever have imagined. Halfway through their first few lessons, she has to throw her shoes to the side. They’ve rubbed her toes and heels raw and she finds it easier to find footing without the plastic soles slipping in the dirt. Usually,  jovial Fangs is a fun teacher, picking her up when she falls and helping her brush off her clothes. But he doesn’t hold back. By the time they break for lunch she knows how to dodge a few punches and take them even better. There are bruises up her arms that ache through to her muscles, but it’s the one on her ribs that hurts most.

It’s Veronica who brings the solace of lunch and water, hand in hand with little Wyatt, who immediately breaks away from his mother and runs into his uncle’s arms. The fact that there is also a very fluffy dog by his side probably also intrigues the boy enough to not want to leave his side. Veronica passes around a few sliced meat and cheese sandwiches and a can of bottles strawberries to share for dessert. There’s an extra can with Jughead’s name on it, Betty notices, and when Veronica hands it to him they share a wordless exchange of gratitude.

Their relationship baffles her on the best of days. There’s no doubt animosity sits there. Fundamentally Veronica and Jughead are different people, but at their cores, they chase after the same things: happiness, protection, a family. It’s where that last one intercepts that is the most important. Fred, Wyatt, and Archie belong to both of them and it’s that sharing that bridges the gap between their splintered realities. Archie is his brother and her husband and thus they are family now -  fighting to protect each other even when they themselves at at odds. The childish and petty arguments they get into are their way to blow off steam because at the end of the day they will always be with each other. A family.

It makes Betty’s heartache. She doesn’t have that anymore. Her mother is locked in the City, not wanting to escape so she can right her wrongs, while Chic sits loyally amidst the fire and chaos for a place that protected his own. Polly is gone and dead, a body clinging desperately to love of her young life, another one for the pile of the fallen that the world took too young. Now, she is alone. Despite the comfort of Jughead’s little cabin and the reassuring radiance of Cheryl’s presence, she feels utterly alone.

But then perhaps she isn’t, because Veronica is sitting by her side with another jar and a finger pressed against her lips. “Don’t tell the others that you’re my favorite, B. They’ll get jealous.”

Betty laughs and, unable to stop herself, throws her arms around Veronica, grateful and a little less lonely than she was before. “I promise I won’t. How’s Wyatt today?”

“Always good. Better now that he’s with his favorite uncle.” She rolls her eyebrows but that familiar affectionate little grin is there. “I just don’t get it. Maybe it’s because he thinks he’s cool and wears leather. Sometimes I just worry about the influence of him always being around the Serpents. What if one day he wants to join them? I mean, look at you. You’re bruised and beat up, for what?”

For what? It’s a good question. She wonders too. What is this all for? Who is this all for? She spent such a long time, back in the City, doing things only for her mother, or Polly, or even Chic, that the only thing she ever did for herself was becoming a teacher. And even then that was so her mother wouldn’t worry about her in the Police force and she could help ease the minds of the youth in troubled times. But working beside the Serpents means more than that. This is to prove something to everyone. So when Veronica asks “ _ for what _ ”, part of Betty already knows.

“Forget I asked,” Veronica waves her off before she can answer. “Instead, remember that I’ve decided to ask how you and brooding boy are getting on in your sleeping arrangements?”

Having been completely distracted by the melting taste of freshly baked bread and churned butter, Betty chokes so hard the rest of the Serpent’s heads spin their way. Jughead raises an eyebrow and doesn’t turn back until she’s assured him she’s fine with a wave of her hand. Wyatt pulls at his hat for attention and wiggles a bite of bread from his hand which provides enough of a distraction for the time being.

Cheryl’s voice picks up behind them, sliding into the already squished space beside Betty, pushing them all further sideways on the crowded front porch steps. “Oh please. Gag. My cousin would never stoop so low. There are much better candidates for her affections than that heathen.”

“Isn’t he technically your boss, Cheryl?” Veronica asks incredulously.

“Please. No one besides Toni is my boss, and that’s only when I let her be.”

“Children’s ears!” Betty protests, gesturing to a thoroughly distracted Wyatt in vain. The last thing on her list was to know all about the goings on between Cheryl and Toni on the nights they don’t have to go patrolling.

Cheryl waves her off and moves closer. “Unless there is something and I’m wrong in assuming you actually have a brain.”

“Jeez, Cher, thanks for that one. You really know how to make someone feel good about their decisions.”

“There are good decisions and there are bad decisions. And throwing yourself at the guy who houses you is a bad decision. Besides, you must have seen him eat. He looks like a pig.”

“They all look like pigs,” Veronica explains, rolling her eyes. “But Jughead’s a good guy as much as I loathe to admit it. And you know that too, so don’t be so bitter. Or I won’t be bringing you and your beau anymore special cherry preserves.” Cheryl huffs and turns away, bringing a smile to Veronica’s lips. “That’s what I thought. And for the record, B, I would have no protests to you one day being Wyatt’s aunt. You know.,f it was ever something you wanted to think about. No pressure though. None.”

Betty groans and does her best to ignore the situation by shoving the rest of her sandwich into her mouth. Cheryl and Veronica start complaining about Ethel’s latest knit gloves. Everyone knows the snow is going to start sticking to the ground soon. The air is biting and cold on her bare feet and Betty’s already had to shove them back into her uncomfortable shoes to avoid getting frostbitten. It’s one of the reasons her training is being condescended as quickly as it can. It won’t be easy to fist fight someone in the middle of a flurry.

Ethel’s prices are the talk of the Market today, according to Veronica. People are unhappy and there’s chatter about going to someone else. Miss Caroline works slower but she’s been using thicker wool. Apparently, the garments are thin and she’s trying to charge an arm and a leg for it. Kevin stepped in to try negotiating a lower price but she won’t budge from her insistence.

“Fifteen cans for three pairs of mittens? Who the hell is she kidding? Especially when I’m the one doing patchwork on her boyfriends pants. My son needs something to keep him warm and he’s already grown out of the ones we got last year. She’s being so selfish about this and we need her. You can tell it’s going to be cold.”

Cheryl nods her head in agreement. “Ethel’s always been a bit of a bitch when it comes to these things. But what she doesn’t understand is how important it is. You think the Serpents want to be riding around saving her and her murder chasing boyfriend?”

“What do you mean by that?” Betty asks as her ears prickle with curiosity.

“Her boyfriend, Ben, he’s wanted an in with the Serpents for years. He keeps trying to get himself initiated by going on suicide missions beyond the fence. He’s more a pain in the ass than anything. The last time he did it, Jughead had to go after him and I’ve never seen him so mad,” Veronica explains. “I never understood why they didn’t just take him in. He’s a willing body and I know it’s not easy to keep numbers up with how dangerous it is.”

Cheryl’s voice is venomous and Betty can tell she holds no love for Ethel or her boyfriend. “The Serpent's need good men and women, not loose cannons like him and his idiot friend Dilton. They almost got Jughead and my TT killed by shooting guns near sunset. If they ended up dead on their next ‘mission’ it would be better for everyone.”

“Cheryl!” Veronica’s voice is tight, scolding, the way it gets when Wyatt has his hands inside the preserves without permissions. “You don’t mean that. Ben and Dilton are a….lot to handle. But they’re not monsters. They’re not bad people and they don’t deserve to die.”

“I never said they were, but the amount of resources the Serpents have wasted rescuing them every month? We don’t have that kind of manpower anymore, Veronica. I know Jughead likes to keep you and the Andrews clans in the dark about how much we have to exercise just to keep your little brat out of trouble, but after the last Ghoulie raid before Betty showed up we’re already outnumbered thanks to traitor bitch Penny. Risking more of us by running after two suicidal idiots? Useless. And the sooner Jughead realizes that, the better leader he’ll be.”

“You’re being harsh on him for no reason. What Jughead does for us, my family is grateful for, but you can’t act high and mighty and say we don’t give as much back as we can. Fred lost a leg trying to help you guys out and he could have lost a hell of a lot more if Jughead wasn’t there to save him. So watch your attitude, Blossom, because you may deal in fire but my specialty is ice.”

Cheryl’s lips purse and Betty knows the look on her face, the wheels turning as she contemplates how best to back pedal to avoid having to apologize for behavior even she finds to be catty and deplorable. As much resentment as there is amongst the Serpents for the Andrews, Cheryl has never been the root of it. So instead she turns away with a huff and lets the wind kick up her hair and paint the sky with flashes of red.

“Regardless,” she tuts, “Dilton and Ben are wild cards and loose cannons that should at least be locked in the jails at night to avoid them causing any more trouble.”

Veronica nods. “That’s something we can all agree with.”

Betty dares to speak up now, too curious to be able to bite her tongue for any longer. “What sort of things have Dilton and Ben do? I don’t think I’ve met them yet.”

“Lucky you,” Toni hums. “They’re the biggest thorn in the side we’ve ever had and it comes from inside our walls, naturally. They think they’re some spying vigilantes but in reality, they’re just idiots. A few months ago they tried to capture a Diseased and bring it into camp so we could study it -  like we don’t have enough of those things stumbling around at night. If we wanted to catch one instead of kill one, we could have done it already. I’ve never seen Jughead so angry. He almost had them excommunicated out of Riverdale and sent to live in the City by Mayor McCoy, but they promised they’d behave and, well, Ethel is one of the few good seamstresses’ in town and she’d end up following her boyfriend. We can’t afford that.”

The balance the Serpents are forced to keep is fascinating to Betty. There are pushes and pulls she could never have imagined thinking of - dominos that fall one right after another from just one single action. It’s no wonder to her that Jughead spends his days in a state of perpetual stress. Even when he’s supposed to be resting, curled up on the couch and enjoy a book from before the First Outbreak, he’s interrupted by generator crashing and wannabe heroes.

Before she can ask any more questions, Fangs is tossing her a set of brass knuckles she fumbles with so badly they crash to her feet and she bites back a curse. Jughead tries to cover a laugh with a half-hearted cough but he’s grinning at her in a way that makes her stomach twist in uncomfortable knots and her focus drift so far from her teacher that she ends up with a punch to her stomach so hard she’s winded. After that, he takes it easier on her, but it’s no surprise to anyone when he suggests she might be better suited to something else.

It’s too late in the day to work on shooting with Toni and Jughead, but Fangs makes sure she understands she’s made good progress. The plan is to cycle different lessons until she gets comfortable enough and something she excels at. In this environment being a jack of all trades might just save your life, but it doesn't hurt to have a talent.

Everything aches as they make their walk home. Jughead is just dropping her off at the Andrews’ house to rest since he’s agreed to help with perimeter tonight. Wyatt hasn’t stopped babbling with excitement, taking Betty’s hand as she limps forward.

“Auntie B is staying the night!” He always acts like it’s the first time she has ever done it, and her heart soars with happiness as she smiles down at him.

“I know. I’m excited. We can play the quiet game and we’ll read tonight too. You’re getting so much better with your letters, Wyatt, I’m sure mommy and daddy are proud too. I know your Uncle Juggie is.”

Jughead nods from beside her, offering the little boy a brilliant smile. “Absolutely, little man. Maybe next time I can see you write my name.”

“Nuh huh, that’s a hard name Uncle Juggie. Too many letters.”

He’s distracted after that, by a little rock on the ground that glitters like silver in the twilight. Veronica has to pick him up and carry him the rest of the way. Without the distraction Betty feels the weight of her pain on her feet, trudging through the half sleet that’s started to fall to the ground in the cold air. Every muscle aches, feels like it’s being broken and ripped apart, but a sense of accomplishment wells in her chest. She’s excited for tomorrow. For every day after that. With every drudging step forward she proves herself as worthy of this place. Riverdale. The Serpents. Herself.

“Are you okay?” she hears him whisper, moving closer to her side.

It’s obvious he’s talking about the way she favors her right leg over her left. Fangs had kept his promise and not held back. No bones were broken but every nerve ending was fried and threatened to fall apart at even a feather-light touch. She starts to wobble a bit and Jughead reaches out, catching her before she can fall, smirking as he says, “I take that as a no. I’ll tell Fangs to lighten up a little next time.”

“I’m fine.” She assures him, straightening out. “Seriously I’m fine, Jug. It’s just a lot and I’m not used to it. But I can do this.”

“I know you can, but you have to remember you aren’t doing it alone. In unity, there is strength. It’s the Serpent’s most important rule.”

“Hmm, pot, my names kettle, I hate to tell you this, but you’re black.”

Jughead rolls his eyes and she can tell he’s contemplating giving her a push but decides better against it when she stumbles forward on a rock. It feels good that, right before he leaves, he pulls her aside and tells her to keep Archie and everyone else safe. The foundation of trust has started to build -brick by brick -and with every Serpent required lesson she attends she can feel that connection grow.

It’s the next day that she finally gets to take her first shot, or rather, first shot outside of the Farm. Shooting beside Toni is awkward at first. Part of Betty keeps expecting her to turn slightly to the left and put a shot right between her green eyes and through her ponytail, but it never comes. Whether that’s a product of her cousin’s wife actually warming up to her or Jughead’s presence, is a bit up for deliberation. She’s not unsteady with a firearm. Years of watching her brother target practice in their backyard make her know the proper posture, the confidence, the steady breaths that come. It still doesn’t stop her from nearly flinging back the first time Toni puts a shotgun in her grasp.

“You said the kickback wasn’t that bad!” She protests, rubbing the throbbing ache in her shoulder where she’s sure a bruise is already starting to form on her tender skin. At least, a bruise would be forming there if there wasn’t already four occupying the spot thanks to a nasty set of brass knuckle punches courtesy of Fangs.

Her two teachers are cackling, holding each other for support, Toni gripping the fence they had been leaning on. Their breath dances in the air, a ghost chasing after a chilly morning. It’s a moment of levity she isn’t used to witnessing amongst the Serpents. Whenever she’s around they’ve always seemed so somber, so unsure of her presence that they put on a front to stroke the coals of her preconditioned fear. To keep the town running, the Serpent's need respect from the locals, a respect she’s seen reciprocated both ways. It’s a delicate balance that she admires greatly.

“For what it’s worth,” Jughead takes the shotgun from her hands and sets it aside, “You’re a great shot.”

She tries to ignore the blush that creeps along her cheeks at his compliment, toes curling in her brand new shoes. After bandaging another set of ruptured blisters, Jughead had pleaded with Mayor Lodge to allow him to check the meager City shipment for any shoes that might fit Betty. It was luck that they found a pair that wasn’t too loose or too tight. The sneakers have helped even if they rub raw against her tired skin.

“Thank you. I know.” She takes the gun from him again and aims. The shot is loud, but the way the bullet shatters the glass bottle, shards of green slicing through the air, fill her with a sense of childlike excitement.

“Toni, can I ask you something?” 

Toni smiles and raises an eyebrow. “You just did, but I’ll let you have another one.”

“You know Cheryl and I are family, right? So why were you so unsure of me when I came to Riverdale. I’m not sure I can blame you but I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Cheryl loves you a lot and that makes us family too.”

The woman softens, rolling her eyes and checking to make sure Jughead is preoccupied before she lets her feelings too out in the open. “I was worried. I know Cheryl talked about how her family back in the City weren’t exactly the nicest people around and I projected that onto you. But truthfully, it’s not just Cheryl who’s had run in’s with bad City people. When I was there on a Serpent mission, everyone who saw me treated me like trash or a circus animal. _ Look at the strange girl from the small town, however do they survive out there _ . Please, it was so belittling. Even when people tried to act interested I knew they were just doing it to be able to brag to their friends about the girl from Riverdale they met.

“I was worried you were going to be some snobby rich girl who didn’t want to pull her weight. But that night you fixed the generator you proved something to me. You’re willing to get your hands dirty and out here that means something. I don’t trust you one hundred percent yet ponytail, so don’t give me a reason to not.”

But bullets, and thus guns, are rare in Riverdale and only Jughead and his second in command, Toni, are really allowed to hold them at all times. There are whisperings that FP had flitched one or two from the armories but no one has yet to confirm or deny the theory. The only other times a Serpent is allowed near a firearm is if they’re on Farm duty or at the perimeter, and even then the duo only gets a single one to share. So she moves onto her next task: a rousing game of archery with Cheryl.

It turns out, she’s terrible at it. While looking down the bottom of a barrel and learning to steady her breathing came naturally, there’s something about a bow that makes her grip so clumsy she can see the tips of Cheryl’s hair start to crackle with frustration. Within moments she’ll have an angry demon of hellfire on her hands. It doesn’t help that the bow she’s using is one of Cheryl’s old ones and she’s insanely protective of all her possessions. She shouts and snips and nitpicks every single movement.

Betty tries to align her shot again, doing as she was instructed, breathing out as the tight string snaps from her grip. It snags her forearm despite Cheryl padding the area with discarded bits of leather and drags a pink burn across her skin. The arrow hits left of center, barely on the actual mat. At least there’s more practice with arrows. They can be easily recycled, but every miss is one Cheryl takes much harder than either Toni or Jughead did during her firearm testing.

“You missed again, cousin,” she scolds, eyes narrowed. “You aren’t listening to what I’m saying.”

“I am listening! I just think that maybe this isn’t something that I’m good at. Like hand-to-hand with Fangs. Maybe I’m destined to fix generators and shoot when I have to.”

“Oh no, no. No family of mine is going to be pushed to the sidelines. This isn’t just your place in the Serpents on the line, but my reputation. I’ve done a lot of sticking my neck out for you lately, Betty, and you’re going to show me that I didn’t do it unwisely. You have hidden potential and you just need the right median to unlock it.”

Cheryl starts to pace, eyebrows knit in confusion as she studies Betty in a way that makes her skin crawl and the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She’s always been critical. Even when they sat around the coffee table at the Cooper home and gossiped, Cheryl liked to cut to the core of people, whispering about secrets there was no way she could know but did nonetheless. No wonder half the Serpents quaked in their leathers whenever she walked through the doors.

“But I don’t think anyone has taken the chance to ask you where you think your talent lies. And I don’t want to hear about how you were destined to be the one true mechanic to save us all - blah, blah, blah. What parts of the training are you good at? What are you bad at?”

Betty thinks for a minute, trying to search for the answers her cousin might want. “I think….”

“No. No I think. Only, I know. We’re in the wild west now, cousin, and the only way to survive is self-assurance. So try again.”

“I know I like the rush of firing a gun, but it’s too loud, too noisy. I know that I like the precision of the arrow, but I can’t keep hold of the bow, especially when I have to draw it back like that. I keep overcorrecting and I end up missing or scratching up my arm. I don’t like getting close enough to see a Diseased, so I’m not sure being with Fangs on the front lines would be my thing either.”

There’s a weighted silence in the air as Cheryl processes what she’s said. Betty doesn’t dare to speak, or really even breath too much, in fear of incurring the red-heads wrath. Finally, a terrifying grin stretches across her terrifyingly soft lips and she nods. “Well, I have the perfect solution. You’ll meet me here, tomorrow, at sunrise. No dallying at the Market with our resident romance hater either. If you’re late I’ll send TT to hunt you down and drag you here. Understood?”

Betty swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Understood. But are you at least going to tell me what I’ll be learning?”

“Irrelevant. You’ll find out tomorrow. Now shoo, go home and rest in the lackluster embrace of our fearless leader and let him know I’ve commandeered you for the day tomorrow.”

By the time she gets back to the little cabin, Jughead is upset about something, muttering to himself while he chips pieces of broken twigs to points. Betty raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as she pulls up her book and sits beside him. Just as he had said,  _ Frankenstein _ has turned out to be one of her favorite Pre-Outbreak pieces of literature. It’s dark and spooky but brings an interesting introspection on their own sticky environment. She wonders if poor Mary Shelley could ever have imagined the chaos her home would fall into, where people really did think corpses reanimated themselves and came to feast on the flesh of the living.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him fiddle with the wood. Sometimes his fingers slip and the dulled knife pressed deep into his skin, leaving a pinprick of blood to well up. He sighs and wipes it off on the splattered cloth on his lap. She’s not sure what he’s whittling for, besides, perhaps, a distraction from whatever is banging against the chambers of his troubled mind, but there are sticks littering the ground. Some are thick and sharp stakes, but others are rounded at the edge with notches to connection them. She’s seen a few of these littered around Riverdale. The bigger ones are placed where the Diseased like to try and crawl, pitfalls to slip and stab themselves as a deterrent. But it’s the rounder ones she finds curious. They’re discarded to the side like rejects, failed experiments he can’t bear to look at any longer. If she squints hard enough, some of them look like they’re in the early stages of forming a shape, perhaps a flower or a bird.

“You always watch me like you think I can’t see you.” He doesn’t look up as he slices through the wood, a small chip joining its friends in the growing pile below. 

“You always say that like you don’t like me watching.”

Jughead grins, shaking his head. “Mmmm….I’m sure that’s it.”

“I have special training with Cheryl tomorrow. Sorry I can’t come to the Market with you on your rounds.”

Early morning walks around the Market with Jughead have become a tradition of sorts. They never really talk. It’s the silence that she enjoys the most, the easy comfort of one another simply being, a moment of peace cut out amongst the chaos. They walk until her feet hurt and then they sit and share a slice of bread and cheese before they walk some more. He introduces her to vendors and townsfolk and lets her work her City girl charm to knock down some of the steeper prices--the pantry has been looking healthier ever since she arrived. She’s sad that time won’t be there tomorrow.

“I heard. She told me what she’s got planned for you because I had to sign off on a shift exchange.”

The peaks her curiosity and she wiggles a little closer. “So does that mean you can tell me what exactly she’s got planned for me?”

“My lips are sealed, Betty, for fear your cousin will finally attempt a coup and use my intestines as decoration for whatever hellfire themed color scheme she decides the Wyrm looks better in.”

She laughs and offers him a childish whine in retribution, but he waves her off and the comfort of his company returns. His knife works get smoother and she sees the tension start to release from his shoulders. Finally, the little flower in his palm starts to come together. By the time they head to bed she might even say they’ll have a nice little bauble for the table come the next morning. She wonders if there’s a place she can find a few paints to help decorate it.

The relaxing night fades into a painful morning. Getting out of bed to practice does not bring the same ease as getting out of bed for an early morning walk did, but Betty doesn’t dare be late. Jughead wishes her farewell with a wave before heading off to the Market. He promises he’ll tell Wyatt and the other Andrews hello for her and let them know that if she perishes in whatever wickedness Cheryl is concocted that she loved them.

“I’ll stop by later to make sure Cheryl hasn’t killed my newest recruit,” he promises.

“Don’t hold your breath on finding a body. She would find a way to feed me to Hot Dog.”

“He’s a war dog, Betty, he’d eat your face off without a second guess.” She’s not too sure about that, especially after seeing the gentleness that dog has when he rolls around and does tricks at the Serpents behest for a few scraps, but she just smiles and keeps her mouth shut on the way to Cheryl’s.

Things go in a surprising direction when it’s Sweet Pea who she meets at the makeshift Archery field, standing behind Cheryl, so tall she stands in his shadow to avoid the rays of the sun. Her eyes light up and she grins. “Good, you’re here and not late. Sweet Pea is going to teach you something new. I thought about what you said about your ineptitudes and I think I’ve figured out the perfect compromise.”

“Knife throwing,” Sweet Pea beams and pulls out a few iron pieces. “All the precision of an arrow or a bullet but none of the other parts to get in the way. Just you and your arm.”

“Isn’t that how it always is at night for you?” Toni razzes from her perch on the porch. It must be her day off, Betty thinks, and she’s decided to spend it watching the new girl fail. She almost can’t blame her. The near catastrophe at the gun range has been the talk of the Serpents since it happened. If she has to look one more leather wearing cad in the eyes and explain that yes, she did scream when the shotgun kicked back, but it was more out of surprise than anything.

Sweet Pea’s quick with his hands and one of the knives barely hits above Toni’s head. She hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even moved, simply raised an eyebrow at him and plucked the knife from the wood, tossing it at his feet. It all seems like a lot, the very concept of throwing knives at objects walking her way, but there’s something she finds fascinating about it nonetheless. This is the first time she’s seen a Serpent throwing knives around and the thought of being one of a kind does more for her than it should.

“Let’s talk about the basics. I’m not great at this if I’m honest, but I do a hell of a lot better job than anyone else. Jones nearly broke one of the knives and no one else has the patience for it. First thing is picking knives that work well. Ones like these,” he pulls out a handful of smaller blades, “Don’t do much against Diseased, but they’re easier to throw. It’s about the weight in them. This would be like bee stings to one of those fuckers. It’ll be a good distraction and a cool party trick, but to actually do any damage you want something heavier. A long blade is nice for penetration, sure, but you need the heaviness to crack through the ribs.”

Betty tries to retain as much information as she can. He sets the little knives in her palm and she feels them, tracing along the worked metal, curious. Of course, Sweets is right, they don’t feel like they would do damage so she doubts they ever would. They start throwing those first, so she can get a feel for how to do it without the risk of causing damage when a shot goes haywire. It isn’t until noon that she starts to get the hang of the little knives, but everyone around her seems impressed. Sweet Pea pats her back so hard she lurches forward in surprise.

“Nice aim, Betty, I’m impressed. And here I thought you were just some annoying City Princess. Turns out you’ve got a good throwing arm.”

She’s not sure how big of a compliment that is, but she takes it anyway and smiles back at him. “Thanks, I think. I’m sure it helps I’ve got a really good teacher.”

“Boo!” Toni shouts, perched in Cheryl’s lap. “Don’t inflate his ego, Cooper. He’s dangerous when he thinks he’s actually worth a shit.”

“Hey, fuck you Topaz! Who did your girl have to call to actually come out and help? Me. Sweet Pea. Aka the Man.”

“And you’re the man of what, exactly? Man of the trees, maybe. Is that what they started calling you after you sprouted out of a pine cone?”

Sweet Pea’s eye twitches and he groans. “Not you too, Cheryl.”

“Always me, Cucumber. Now do what I asked you to do and train my cousin. Maybe once she’s mastered it we can finally come up with an excuse to get Jughead to leave you in the forest so you can be with your people again.”

“Ignore her. She’s always been like that,” Betty tries to reassure him, but she can’t stop laughing at the dynamic before her. It’s the most relaxed she’s felt amongst the Serpents even without Jughead’s presence by her side. This feels like the beginning of something good.

“You’re the one nice one here, don’t lose that Cooper, or you’ll become just as bitter as we are. Want to go another round?”

“Absolutely! I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

Toni hums, “Not many people ask him that. Must be your lucky day, Sweetie, but I’d pray Jughead doesn’t hear you flirting with her.”

In the following days, it turns out Betty has a talent for knife throwing, more than she thought. As they transition to the heavier blades her confidence grows and soon enough she’s throwing steel hard enough to crack through the pig ribs they’ve got pinned to boards a few feet away. The first time she hears the telltale crunch of bone and thunk of iron against wood she beams.

Cheryl and Toni, together again, after having taken turns watching her progress, holler in excitement. Fangs decided to join them today too, an extra body to add around the warm campfire of her peanut gallery, and he starts clapping along with them.

Sweet Pea hoots and offers her a high five. “Nailed it! Keep that up and you’ll be better than I am.”

“She is already better than you.” A familiar voice creeps in and she knows then that Jughead’s been watching her. They haven’t spent a lot of time together the last few days, her training so intense and her dedication to it reaching a peak. Even at night she stumbles home tired and passes out with her shoes still on. Miraculously, she always wakes up with them off and leaned up nicely by the door, something she suspects is not because of a magic shoe fairy.

She tries to hide how much she lights up around him, but the little smile on her lips gives her away as Sweet Pea looks down with a knowing glint in his eyes. The two of them have developed a strange relationship over the past few days, one she doesn’t really mind. Sweet Pea antagonizes her and she dares to push right back.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Just because she’s good doesn’t mean she’s that good.”

Betty smiles up at him and bats her eyelashes innocently. “I don’t know. You did tell me that I was the best knife thrower you’d ever had yesterday. Sometimes it’s time for the student to surpass the master.”

“Betrayal from you hurts the most, Betty, but I’ll remember that the next time we’re all drunk at the Wyrm together and I get dared to throw a knife at an apple on someone else’s head. You’ll be my first volunteer.”

“As much as I like to help the misfortunate, I’m not on a suicide mission, Sweet Pea.”

Toni cackles next to the fire, her clapping muffled by the knit scarf she’s been sharing with Cheryl. “Get him, Betty!”

“Alright, alright. Settle down, everyone. I brought lunch from our very own Pop Tate. He was feeling generous today and there were a few leftovers he was willing to give us for free to say thanks for the extra patrol I sent around the diner last night.”

The Serpents all set up by the fire. Cheryl and Toni are tied together with clothes, bundled up to find warmth in each other. Sweet Pea and Fangs sit suspiciously close together on the log across from them, but Betty doesn’t say anything, instead sending a wink his way when she notices Sweet Pea nervously brushing his hand across Fangs’. He flips her off, but the sentiment behind the act is hardly anything malicious so she just laughs.

Jughead sits beside her on the remaining perch--an old metal outdoor couch with cushions so thin she can feel the wrought iron poking into her butt, but it’s better than braving the frosted wet ground and getting her one pair of dry pants soaked through. He passes the bag of goodies around. There’s a few hamburgers stuffed in the bottom and a package of fries she sure wasn’t always so cold. She’s never properly been to the diner before, but judging from Jughead’s vague descriptions it isn’t the kind of place most people go anymore. Drifters usually, so the security detail is tight. Pop’s is a gentle man with a gentle heart, at least so she’s heard, but she’s also heard about the time the Ghoulies tried to raid his establishment and he created Molotov cocktails out of liquor and rags to chase them away.

Food is eaten in relative silence, until, Sweet Pea dares to speak up, “I heard your mom was one hell of a Serpent, Betty.”

“Yeah? I never did,” she says with a sad smile. Her mother told her a few of her exploits, but the details were always glossed over, part of Alice Cooper’s constant attempt at hiding her true personality behind a series of quick lies and half-truths. She wonders if she’ll ever get to hear them from her again.

“Hey, if your mom is half as wicked as I heard she was, she’s probably got herself a collection of Diseased heads mounted on the wall.”

Sweet Pea’s words are reassuring and her sadness cracks with a laugh shattered like thin ice. “The Alice I knew would be more likely to scold them into submission. What sort of things did you hear about?”

“My dad once told me him and your mom took on six ghoulies with an old tailpipe and a wrench. He was drunk, so I have no idea how much of that is true, but she sounds like a fighter, Betts.” Jughead puts a reassuring hand on her knee and squeezes. His blue eyes reassure her. Finally, she relaxes. “Your mom is going to be okay and so are you. You’re both Serpents. In unity, there is strength.”

For the first time, she repeats it with the rest of them, feeling the words roll off her tongue with ease she never would have expected when she first stepped foot into Riverdale. The world is starting to feel right here - like she was always meant to settle her roots in a town on the brink of something. She can feel it in the air today especially. The crispness  is always part of December in New York, but there’s a tension, pulling tighter and tighter with each passing day. Soon it’s going to snap and she feels in the pit of her stomach that when it does there will be hell to pay for those caught in its warpath. She just hopes that Riverdale manages to dodge it and the waves of destruction she has no doubt radiate from the City’s central hub.

“Trust me when I say that Alice is the type to go out swinging.”

_ Like son, like father _ , Betty thinks, as she watches FP Jones materialize from nowhere, unsteady on his feet and clinging onto the paneling of the house to keep himself upright. The stench of alcohol is so pungent she thinks it’s probably woven into his DNA or at the very least the thread of his clothes. He’s got a bottle in his hands, clear liquid sloshing forward with every step, only the cork keeping it from spilling out.

Jughead sighs, “What are you doing here, dad? I thought you wanted to go off the grid again so you could focus on your moonshine or whatever.”

“Moonshines done for right now, son. I just dropped off a bunch of it with the doctors to help keep patients happy and cuts clean. I know you don’t think it’s noble, but I’m doing something good too.”

“Good would be coming to a Serpent meeting and picking up some of your slack. You know we’re down numbers lately anyway, but you avoid all responsibility, only popping up when you want to overthrow my judgment or offer someone a stiff drink.”

“Seems my overthrowing worked out fine for you.” he gestures to where Jughead’s hand still rests on Betty’s thigh and he pulls back quickly like suddenly her skin threatens to burn his. It’s a loss she’s surprised she misses so much.

“Don’t. I don’t want to fight with you today.”

“Good thing I’m not here for an argument. I saw the fire and I figured I’d drop in and tell my son hello, didn’t realize he’d hate the idea of it so badly.”

Jughead sighs, looking away from the messy man in leather. “Well, he does. But you’re so fucking drunk you’ll end up killed if I let you leave on your own. Fangs, Toni, Cheryl, help me get him back to his cabin. Sweets, keep an eye on Betty for me?”

“Aye, aye captain.”

“I’m not an invalid. I can make it back to my place on my own.”

FP’s protests fall on deaf ears and Jughead turns to Betty. “Good. I’ll be right back, Betts. Don’t get too good while I’m gone.”

Despite FP’s insistence, the three Serpents escort him in the direction of his mysterious little abode. She’s left with Sweet Pea, a phenomenon that would have terrified her just a few weeks ago, and now feel nearly as comforting as the similar silence she experiences with Jughead. With him, there’s more noise in the air, a gentle hum or the fiddle of his jeans against the wood he’s sitting on. Jughead prefers when nothing but the snap of brisk winter air can be heard, and Betty thinks Sweet Pea might hate quiet more than he hates losing.

“FP and Jones are always like that,” Sweet Pea says. “Fighting, I mean. It’s like mixing oil and water or something. I think Jug’s still pissed he left and FP’s just as mad at himself but can’t own up to it.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Every relationship with your parents is though, right?”

Betty nods and laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. My dad died during the original Outbreak, and you know my mom’s back in the City. My sister, she um, well she didn’t make it either. Her and Jason, Cheryl’s brother, got infected together.”

“My parents were Serpents. My mom died giving birth to me, and sometimes I think she’s lucky because that means she didn’t have to watch the world go to shit. Dad kind of snapped when the dead started walking around and then he died during a Ghoulie raid when I was thirteen. FP helped out a lot in raising me. I’ll be grateful for that for a long time, but he’s kind of a shit dad too. Maybe everyone’s parents are kind of a shit. Maybe you can’t be a good parent when everything’s a mess.”

“I don’t know. I saw a lot of good parents in the City, but most of all I see Veronica and Archie and what they’re doing with Wyatt. And Fred? He’s good too. It’s the environment, yes, but it’s also the people, how we react, how we’re conditioned. I’m sorry about your parents, Sweet Pea.”

He nods, but she can tell the pain isn’t really there anymore. She wonders if any of the Serpents feel pain about those that are lost or  if it’s simply just another thing they’re prepared for. “I’m sorry about yours too.”

“Careful. If my mom finds out any one doubted her chances for survival, she’ll personally rip your ear off.”

“Sounds terrifying, Cooper. Jesus, I hope you’re not like that too.”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to see what happens when I’m older. Want to practice a little more until everyone else comes back?”

“Music to my ears. Just don’t make me look too bad when they come back.”

“Oh Sweets,” she laughs, “you do that all on your own.”

Jughead comes back in a foul mood, muttering to himself. The others look more tired than frustrated and soon enough it’s time for the group to scatter and go their separate ways. As they walk back to the cabin, Betty watches the tension in his body, the staccato movements of his legs as he steps through the snow. She’s not sure what comes over herself in that moment, but she dares to reach out, tangling their fingers together. His hands feel like ice. Or maybe it’s hers that do. But soon their warmth radiates together and they’re walking side by side back home, silence settling around their shoulders, a tender embrace to ease away some of the troubles. He doesn’t stop holding her hand, even when the night engulfs them and slivers of moonlight slip through the boards in the bedroom.

The next day, she practices until her arms hurt and her body aches. She practices until every knife she throws hits her target, even if a little off course. She practices until Sweet Pea bows and, handing her a set of knives, proclaims her to be the Knife Queen. It feels like a well-earned celebration when he puts her on his shoulders and spins her around, Fangs hooting in the background while Cheryl and Toni roll their eyes.

It’s strange the closeness she’s gathered with all of them thanks to a few lessons to keep her alive. Sweet Pea in particular, who used to be so intimidating she couldn’t stare at him too long without wanting to turn and run the other way, is softer than she could ever have imagined. He’s an idiot, just like Jughead said, but maybe an idiot isn’t such a bad thing when he makes her laugh the way he does.

“We should celebrate your coronation,” Toni laughs, despite Cheryl’s protests to not encourage him. “How about pool and drinks at the Wyrm? Jughead’s camped there trying to work out the shipment manifesto the City sent in. Apparently, it’s even less than last time and both he and the Mayor aren’t thrilled we’re sending out more than we’re getting in. Another shipment got hit the other night and I think he could use a little cheering up.”

“And who better to do that than our very own Betty? First City girl I’ve ever seen to make him less pissed off than he was when he started,” Sweet Pea teases.

Betty tries to wave them off before her blush gets too obvious. She thanks the weather -cold and nipping - for being a legitimate reason as to why her ears and nose are pink. “You guys are ridiculous. Don’t you have to get ready for patrol, anyway?”

“Yikes, his bad mood is rubbing off on you. We’ve still got another hour before the sun starts setting so I think I’ve got time to kick Fang’s ass at a round of pool.”

“In your dreams, Sweet Pea!”

The Wyrm is a welcome reprieve from the outside. There’s a fire cracking near the back in the only properly constructed fireplace the building has. A few makeshift spots sit scattered about to keep bodies warm and Diseased away during the night. Jughead’s sitting at a booth near the back, an unlit cigarette between his lips and a stack of papers sitting in front of him. The fire paints him in color, red and orange dance in contrast to the black of his leather and the grey of his hat.

Betty grabs a glass of water from the bar and makes her way over to him, dodging through a few Serpents who still stare a little too long and whisper a little too loudly. She ignores it in favor of sliding in across from Jughead. The cracked vinyl sticks to her jeans and groans under pressure. He doesn’t look up from his work but takes the glass with a single nod.

“How was practice today?”

She smiles, “Well, Sweet Pea ordained me the Knife Queen, so I think things are going pretty well -  if I don’t say so myself.”

“Did I just hear Betty Cooper compliment herself? Must be a frozen day in hell,” he teases, finally looking up from his paperwork. His eyes look hollow and mirthless, his smile drawn tight like Cheryl’s bow. Something like pain flickers behind his eyes and Betty feels her heart break just a little.

“I think it must be.”

Winter is in full swing now. When she walks through Riverdale fallen snow crunches under the weight of her shoes, water seeping through the canvas tops and chilling her toes to the bone. It looks so unassuming, a town engulfed in white. Back in the City she used to dream of winters surrounded by trees and snow, with no one to tell her to stop playing and come inside before she caught a cold, leaving behind her and Polly’s forgotten snowmen until the next day when they’d go outside and see footprints in Frosty’s head and bits of something missing from his body.

Archie’s been busy the last few days, patching roofs as quick as he can to keep houses warm and people safe. A few Serpents have been lending helping hands, but the newest problem is a hole put into one of the Farm’s barn doors, letting in the chill that could damage the crops they have packed away in there. After examination, Archie had thought the hole looked punched in - made by someone strong. The only suspects so far have been the Ghoulies, but even that has left an unsettled taste in many mouths. If it had been a Ghoulie they would have taken something. The only evidence of any attempted break-in was the missing wood and the splitters surrounding the area.

“Come play pool with me,” Betty says quickly. Watching Jughead worry over numbers is giving her a headache and she thinks he deserves a few moments away from his work. “I’ve never played before.”

“You’ve never played pool before?” He smiles and sets his work aside. “Well, I guess it’s time to show you then.”

A few of the balls are missing, so he has to steal them from another game as he racks them up on the peeled apart green felt. He hands her a stick and shoos a few of the watching eyes away with a glare. He teaches her the basics with patience, hovering around her in a way that makes her shiver and shake with excitement. Jughead places his arms around her the same way he did the day he taught her to shoot in the barn and guides his stick forward. The impact is loud, clanking balls shooting off in different directions. She manages to pocket a solid two and the game begins.

After he beats her once--though its close for someone who’s never played before--Jughead turns to her with a grin. “I wonder if there’s anything you can’t do.”

“I can’t climb a tree,” she blurts out, much to both of their surprises. Betty coughs to hide her blush and continues her story. “Or at least I couldn’t for a long time. I tried when I was younger and fell off, nearly broke my arm, so my mom told me I wasn’t allowed to try again.”

“I’ll teach you that later.” The way he says it makes her shiver and her mind wanders to what it would be like to climb something else tall and beautiful. “First, I want a rematch. But maybe we can make it more interesting this time. Every time someone pockets a ball they get to ask the other person a question. And you have to answer honestly.”

“Sounds like a deal. Get ready to tell me all your embarrassing stories, Jughead.”

It’s not really a surprise when Jughead gets two in a row at the break. He winks and pulls his cue back. “First question, did you leave anyone behind in the City other than your mother?”

“You mean like a boyfriend? Is that seriously your first questions?” she teases.

“Do you really want that to be yours?”

“Touche. To answer your questions honestly, no I didn’t, but if you want the answer to your  _ real _ question - yes I have had a boyfriend before. His name was Nick St. Clair and I heard that his family home was tragically raided in the second Outbreak. I couldn’t care less if he made it out.”

“There’s a story under there but I won’t press.”

She manages to actually get one in on her turn and spins to him with a grin. “Fair is fair, Juggie. Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“Nope. I didn’t really think that was for me.”

“Did something change?”

“You’re all out of questions, Cooper, maybe try again next time.”

They continue on for some time. Most of the questions are light, gentle, often times teasing as they move closer and closer together. Betty can’t help but think that he’s flirting with her, that little smirk never leaving his lips and his eyes constantly tracing the curves of her body. Maybe she bends over the table a little more than she should to give him a show, missing her hit and scratching the white ball.

Jughead tuts and pulls it out, setting it where he wants. It’s an easy hit and he sinks his second to last ball. All that’s left is for him to hit the eight in and he wins. “Next question, what do you miss most about the City?”

She hadn’t expected that and it catches her off guard. She has to mull it over for a minute before finally, the answer comes. “I miss….the people. I miss my friends Reggie and Josie. I miss my mother, even if I sometimes think I shouldn’t. I miss the kids that I taught and I miss the lessons they would teach me in return. But it’s funny because it’s the people I like most in Riverdale too.”

“Who’s your favorite person in Riverdale?”

Betty grins and points to the black ball. “Hit that in and I’ll tell you.”

Without even looking down, Jughead knocks the cue forward and in it goes. He stands, proud of himself, and takes a step towards her. They’re impossibly close now and her breath is getting heavy between them. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“You.” Suddenly everything melts away and she can feel his lips against hers. It’s feather light, a ghost of a kiss, but she feels like the ground has opened up and swallowed her whole into a wonderland she never wants to leave.

When he pulls back, he’s grinning, probably just as bright as she is. “I think you’ve distracted me from my work long enough, Betts.”

Before she can retort, the door to the Wyrm flies open. The Serpents scattered around are immediately on edge, pulling out weapons from places that don’t look like they could hide weaponry. It’s amazing how fast they all move. How quickly the air shifts from light levity to fearful darkness as the light of the moon floods inside.

It isn’t a horde of Diseased that clambers through the door, but instead, a woman she recognizes only briefly as Ethel Muggs. This is not the same Ethel from the Market - arguing with Veronica and Cheryl about mitten prices. She looks terrified, her eyes blown wide with fear, hands shaking as she falls to her knees. It’s Sweet Pea who moves first, Fangs not far behind, picking her up and carrying her to the nearest chair.

She’s sobbing hysterically and Betty can only imagine why. Her clothes are covered in blood splatters, dried red caked into the circle hem of her skirt. Ethel isn’t wearing shoes or even a scarf. Her hands and lips are blue, her cheeks pink, snow covering her red curls. When one of the Serpents moves to touch her she screams out, batting him away.

“Ethel, Ethel,” Jughead’s voice is calm, kneeling so he can take her bloody hands in his. “It’s us, Ethel. It’s me. Jughead. I need you to take a deep breath and tell me if you got bitten. I need you to tell me what happened, no secrets. If something hurt you we can move fast enough and you’ll be okay, but you have to be honest.”

She shakes her head and sobs again. “No. No not me. I’m not hurt. I ran before they could get me. They were...they were so busy with Dilton and Ben I don’t even think they saw me.”

“Who the hell is _ they _ ?” Sweet Pea snaps.

Toni kicks his leg and narrows her eyes. “Shut your fucking mouth, Pea. You’re not exactly Captain sensitivity.”

“When we get her to calm down, I’ll have you and Cheryl check her over for bites just to make sure,” Jughead says quickly, turning back to Ethel and giving her hands a squeeze. “What happened to Dilton and Ben? Did one of the Diseased get past the fence? Did they make it to your home? Is anyone else in danger?”

“They aren’t here,” she wails. “Not here. Everything’s safe here. I had to crawl up the fence and I cut my hands and my knees but I had to get out. I had to, Jug, after I saw them.”

“Fangs, go check and clean that fence to keep anything from coming our way. Toni, run and get me bandages and steal a jar from dad’s liquor stash. Ethel, I need you to tell me what happened. Is there any way it can make its way to Riverdale tonight?”

She shakes her head, blubbering calmed. Toni comes back and works at her hands and Betty moves to sit beside her to act as a hopefully calming presence. She rubs slow and steady circles onto her skin. “It’s going to be okay, Ethel. I promise.”

Finally, the girl is calm enough to talk. “They wanted to go do something, to prove something like they always do.” Betty hears Sweet Pea mutter  _ son of a bitch _ under his breath. “But it was worse this time. They went beyond the fence again and I didn’t know what they were doing. I heard them muttering about how it wasn’t fair that the Serpents got to have all the fun. I didn’t know what to do so I followed them to make sure nothing happened. If they got captured by Ghoulies again or something I could and come get you to make sure they were okay. But they’re not. They’re not okay! They’ll never be okay again!”

A sickness tightens in her stomach, coiling like a terrified snake as Betty realizes what the ending of this story must entail. It’s a miracle, she thinks, that Ethel is alive with no bites or scratches. Beyond the fence is dangerous with no Serpents to protect you. The only reasons Pop’s is as safe is because of the importance the outpost has for not only Riverdale but the City and connecting paths as well. And even Pop’s stays close to the main roads, the _ once-upon-a-time  _ highways and interstates to make sure civilization can find them in any chance of distress.

“They went to find the Ghoulies, to try and chase them away, or something, or I don’t know. It was so stupid. I stayed as far as I could without losing them and the deeper we got, the creepier it was. I wanted to run but I wanted to keep them safe, to know where they went so I could tell you. But you can’t find them anymore. At the camp, it wasn’t just Ghoulies. There was something else, Jughead. There were Diseased by the weren’t, they weren’t normal. They didn’t look dead.

“They were chained up like dogs on leashes. Penny had one and it kept trying to bite her but she was tossing him pieces of something and I don’t think it was deer,” her voice cracks with another sob and Betty squeezes in reassurance.

“What happened next, Ethel? You’re safe here,” she says steadily.

“Ben was stupid. He jumped out of the tree and started waving around his gun. It didn’t even work. We didn’t have any more bullets after Jug took them so he was just trying to scare them off. No one seemed scared and Penny….she just looked at him and laughed before dropping her hold on the leash and then it….it came at him. It came at Ben so fast, Jughead. It didn’t move slow like they usually do, he was just as quick as a human - maybe faster - and all I remember was him screaming. And then I screamed and Dilton saw me. He told me to run and pulled out his gun too even though he knew it wouldn’t work. And the thing just kept eating Ben, ripping him apart with his teeth. They were so sharp and it was so loud.

“I finally started running, but not before I saw the Ghoulies grab Dilton and force him down. One of them brought the creature over and had it bite him and then I was too far away and I was running too fast. I left them to die, Jug. I left them to die and I didn’t do anything to stop them!”

Jughead takes her other hand to reassure her and Betty can tell by the flare of his nostrils and the way he shakes that anger is slowly seeping into him. There’s a silence in the room, a fear that settles in every person’s heart as they realize the gravity of what’s just been said. There are monsters out there, ones they don’t know anything about, supposedly controlled by their mortal enemies who want nothing more than to own Riverdale. She can hear everyone's breathing, the shakiness, the fear. Winter has come to Riverdale at last, and with it the nightmare she feared.

“Ethel,” Jughead tires to keep his voice calm, “you did what you had to survive. If you hadn’t come back, we never would have known about this. You did the right thing. Now, Cheryl’s going to take you back home and watch you all night.”

“Like hell, I will! I’m not wasting my night off standing watch at some traitor’s house just because she thought she saw something and she’s sad her boyfriend’s dead.”

“Cheryl, shut up, grab your bow, and walk Ethel home. You and Toni are going to clean her up and make sure she’s not infected and then you’re going to  _ keep watch  _ or I’m going to rip that Serpent jacket off of you and toss it into the next bonfire. Understood?”

Her lips purse close but she nods. The levity of the situation does not escape the other Serpents scattered amongst them. “Sir, yes, Sir. Come on TT, let’s go make sure Ethel doesn’t lose it and go on a murder spree.”

Everyone scatters, Cheryl helping Ethel up rougher than she should, and Sweet Pea moves close to Jughead. “Do you think what she said is true, man? That the Ghoulies have some sort of Diseased on a leash like dogs?”

“I don’t know, Sweets. It could just be her making things up to deal with the fact that her boyfriend and his best friend just got murdered in front of her. I don’t know what to think, other than that we’re going to need to put together a recon mission in the middle of winter. As if we didn’t already have a million other things to be worried about. I’ll start working on a plan tonight, but we’re beefing up patrols tonight.”

He turns to Betty with a sad smile, “Sorry, Betts. I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight and if they need any reserves I’m the first person to call. I can have someone else make sure you get home safe?”

“Or,” she pulls up a chair and sits beside him. “You have a second pair of hands to help you. Lucky for you I don’t mind a little late night candle burning. Besides, I have a few ideas.”

Jughead laughs and offers her one of the papers. “Alright, Betty. Tell me what you’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Chapter 5: Scattered Ashes
> 
> Oh boy both my beta and I are nervous about this next chapter. I can't wait!


	5. Scattered Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day have some zombies!
> 
> No but really I have a few things to say. I want to first say BEYOND thank you all to anyone who nominated this fic and me for a few Bughead Fanfiction Awards!
> 
> This fic was Nominated for:  
> Multichapter Fantasy/Sci-Fi  
> Multichapter Tropefest
> 
> And I was nominated for:  
> Author Creative  
> Author Fantasy/Sci-Fi
> 
> Learn how to vote (even if it's not for me, vote for someone!) [HERE](https://bugheadfanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/182771110366/the-voting-is-open)
> 
> I am so fucking floored and honored that this fic, my baby, my sweet precious love of my life fic, has been nominated (on top of other fics of mine too! like OMG!) So thank you thank you all for reading, commenting, loving this fic as much as I do!
> 
> As always, a very loud, a very enthusiastic, a very screaming thank you to my beta reader @miss-eee for being so fucking amazing of a beta that I sent her almost 10k and she turned that shit around in 24 hours.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Smut (that blowjob tag finally rises), Minor Character Death, Descriptions of Violence and Blood. So you know, the usual.

It’s been five days since the Serpents sent out their task force. Betty had only ever spoken with Moose Mason and Chuck Clayton a handful of times - usually at the market - where occasionally they would help her properly haggle for something she needed but was too new to understand the complexities of. Slowly, people were starting to warm up to her, but the older men and women, who lived and remembered the First Outbreak, we’re not as easy to accept outsiders. Moose had always been friendly, but Chuck seemed stoic by nature. But she had never seen either of them as anxious and reserved as they had been when Jughead handed out their orders.

“Ethel informed us that the Ghoulies might be capturing Diseased and using them as pets, amassing an army for something. I want you both to go on recon. Get in. Look around. Get out. If you’re not back in three days I’ll assume you’re dead,” Jughead had said, pacing back and forth in front of the pool table.

Somber, Chuck nodded. “You’ve got it, Jones. I’ve always wanted to see the shit they call their compound anyway.”

Moose, for his part, looked more frightened, hands clenching and unfurling on the knees of his worn down jeans. “What are the chances we won’t come back?”

“I can’t answer that, Moose. I wish I could, but the only person who’s seen any of what they have is Ethel and she’s gone mute since she came back. All we have is the little she managed to tell us before she locked herself in her room. But before you both agree to this, I want you to know you’re under no obligation. You are not Serpents. You didn’t sign up to be part of this.”

They each had their own reasons for agreeing to a dangerous mission. Chuck had gotten in trouble with the Serpents and the Mayor’s office a handful of times for smuggling food out of Riverdale and trying to cash in selling on the City streets. He got caught and dragged back, threatened by a few armed guards that if he ever returned, a slap on the wrist and a free ride back home would be the least of his concerns. Chuck had something to prove, so when the Serpents began asking around town if there were any civilians interested, he was the first to sign up.

Moose’s reasons are still more of a mystery to Betty, even after she’s had the chance to ask around. Kevin seems close with him and even he could only shrug, offering a confusing explanation about his father’s Pre-Outbreak military experience, and the suicide that followed his mother’s death. There was a lot of that here in Riverdale: hopelessness that became all-consuming.

Jughead hadn’t been keen on the idea of sending two untrained nobodies from town into the proverbial lion’s den, but Toni had convinced him that while it was more dangerous for them, it would be less likely to alert the Ghoulies that anyone in Riverdale had the faintest clue what they were up to. If Serpents showed up at a Ghoulie camp, it would be as good as declaring war. If two random, unbranded strangers stumbled upon them and got caught, well who knows where they might have come from. Perhaps another City bus broke down on the road. Or maybe they were refugees who’d been smuggled out of the Quarantine. If they’re captured and tortured, the most information they can give is about the Serpents sending them in for recon, not the inner workings and leaderly pitfalls the group has been facing as of late.

Chuck and Moose had not objected and three days after they agreed to the mission, they were sent past the fence with explicit instructions. If anything seemed off, they were to return immediately. Their lives were more important than information, that’s what Jughead kept stressing, even as they disappeared into the cluttered greenery of Fox Forest.

For the past two days, Jughead has been sitting watch by the fence, waiting for any sign of Chuck and Moose’s return. Sometimes, Betty sits next to him, holding his hand tightly until he curls in on himself again. She can tell he’s guilty, can tell that he’s forcing all the blame onto his shoulders for not trusting his instincts. If Chuck and Moose aren’t dead or turned, they’re as good as.

“Jughead, we need to figure out what we’re going to do now,” Cheryl says softly, tracing the rim of her water glass.

An eerie silence has consumed the Whyte Wyrm the last few days as the realization of their mission’s failure settles like dust among them. It’s a thick sheet of guilt that even makes Betty sick to her stomach. Her nights with Jughead have gotten colder than ever now, and all he can do is stare at her until she falls asleep, his fingers ghosting along the edge of her jawline. They’re ill-defined at best, complicated at worst. Perhaps that’s what it’s like here though.

In the City, Betty thrived under a rigid structure and concrete labels. Nick had been her boyfriend, Chic had been a police officer, her mother had been a Councilwoman, and she had been a school teacher. They woke up at five every morning and locked the doors when the sun went down. The lockdown would begin and her brother would leave to patrol the streets until dawn crept over the horizon. Every Sunday, Polly and Jason would drag her to the museum and she would make herself scarce as she ogled Pre-Outbreak relics. Her favorite were the gramophones and she would always press the little button that made the music play, a sad tune from a world long forgotten.

Structure, she is slowly learning, is yet another luxury that Riverdale is not privileged enough to partake in. At any moment, someone you loved could starve, or venture too far out at night and end up stumbling across a deranged and hungry Diseased. You have to be prepared for the worst, surprised by the best, and expectant of death. No one is going to get out of this world alive, she realizes, and the Serpents deal on borrowed time.

“One more day,” he says, though she suspects it’s mostly to herself, a mantra he’s had on repeat. “One more day and they’ll come back.”

“They aren’t coming back, Jughead.” It’s Toni who’s voice breaks through the melancholy, echoing off the high ceilings, rattling the balls on the pool table. “They aren’t and you need to admit that to yourself. Chuck and Moose are  _ dead  _ and they knew that was a possibility when they agreed to go out there. People who aren’t ready to die don’t take suicide missions. They had their reasons and ignoring that something happened is as good as ignoring that sacrifice. We know something had to have happened with the Ghoulies, now it’s just a matter of figuring out what.”

“How the hell do we know that, Toni? How do we know that they didn’t stumble across a swarm and got too trigger happy? We don’t know shit about what went on in that forest and it’s because we sent two civilians with no training to do our job. Dealing with the Ghoulies, the Diseased, that’s Serpent business. Chuck should have been helping his dad cobble together shoes not drudging through an infested area with a handaxe and a gun we had three days to teach him how to use! And we did that why? Because we didn’t want our hands to get dirty? Because we wanted to make sure we’d keep our secrets safe? Bullshit. We were afraid. We were afraid we’d find out the Ghoulies were planning something right under our noses and we were too stupid, too secure, to figure it out. We were afraid and we wanted to find people willing to do our dirty work who didn’t have that same fear. I don’t want to fucking hear about how this was the right decision for Riverdale when this was clearly the selfish decision for us. We failed the people we swore to protect and now we need to fix it. Somehow.”

Betty has never seen Jughead like this before - slumped in his chair, hands in his face, looking utterly defeated. There are moments, flashes of insecurities when something banged against their cabin door or someone hobbled back into the Wyrm injured but alive. This is so much more than that. She can tell he feels responsible for the decay of their group. This is not Dilton and Ben who had chosen to make a rash decision and launch themselves into trouble, but two men that he has marched into the woods on a death mission. There is nothing to show for their sacrifice, no concrete proof that they died for a reason. They know nothing more than they did before. The Ghoulies are dangerous, they have something planned, and Fox Forest is no longer safe.

Toni settles after that, sinking back into the booth beside Cheryl. Her wife sets her hand on her thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze, gesturing between Betty and Jughead, an eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘ _ Cousin, what are you waiting for’. _ But comforting Jughead is more complex than that. He doesn’t want a hug or a kiss or a touch to remind him that he isn’t alone. When he spirals, he is plunged deep into the depths of his own despair and insecurities, letting it rot inside him.

“Jug,” Betty says softly as she pulls up a chair beside him. “Talk to me.”

He sighs, tossing his hat to the ground. “What’s there to talk about Betty? I have to figure out how to fix this mess I made. I got two people killed and they aren’t people who signed up to die the same way the Serpents did.”

“Maybe it’s not the same way, but they agreed to go on that mission, knowing full well how dangerous it was. There was nothing you could have done to prevent that. They wanted to help you, that same way so many people in Riverdale do. You protect them, you help them, you keep them safe. Do you think Veronica makes all that jam for you to take home for me just out of the kindness of her heart?”

“I thought she was doing that because she actually liked you and didn’t want you to starve?”

Betty rolls her eyes, reaching out and shaking their fingers together. “Leaders make mistakes, that’s what comes with the job description. My mother, she told me that the Council was to blame for the second Outbreak, for the Quarantine, and she stayed to fix what had been broken. Mistakes happen, and they come with weighty consequences here, but you are not perfect. You did what you thought was right for you and everyone here in Riverdale. Sitting here and hating yourself isn’t going to fix the what happened, it isn’t going to rewind time and tell Moose and Chuck not to go. But it’s going to light a fire under your ass to figure out what the Ghoulies are up to. I know you can do this Jug. Believe in yourself the same way everyone here believes in you. The same way Veronica and Archie believe in you. The same way I do.”

Jughead sighs and shakes his head a humorless chuckle escaping his cracked lips. She worries she’s failed him in his time of need, and no amount of throwing knives can fix something like that. But then he squeezes her hands and something akin to determination lights up in his blue eyes and she sees the same fire she did when she first met him.

“You’re right. I can’t fix anything if I do nothing. We’re going to try and bring them home if there’s anything left of their bodies, and figure out what the hell the Ghoulies are up to. They can’t be allowed to get away with whatever the hell they’re up to, and if we don’t know what it is, we can’t figure out a way to protect Riverdale from it.”

“There you go. You’re a leader Jughead, trust yourself.” Betty beams at him and feels the ghost of his lips against her forehead as he stands. 

“Serpents!” Jughead’s voice rings out and everyone turns in attention. “We’re going to put together another task force to attempt to retrieve the bodies of Chuck Clayton and Moose Mason. While we’re out we are also going to gather as much information as we can about the Ghoulies. I’ll be heading the group.”

Toni stands up quickly, her hands banging against the table. She’s furious again and Betty can’t help but blame her. Throw yourself in the path of harm was not exactly what Betty imagined when she gave him her pep talk, but she knows this is not her place to speak up. As much as it hurts her to imagine Jughead in harms way, that is the way of the Serpents, and she imagines someday soon there will be a chance for her to prove herself amongst the group and she won’t want Jughead getting in her way. She sits back and tries to ignore the painful gnawing in the pits of her stomach.

“Like hell, you will. You’re our leader, Jones, and if you get killed out there, do you think your dad is going to waltz his way in here and actually pick up the mantle again? We need you here.”

“I’m going. Final answer. While I’m gone, you’ll be in charge.” His voice and expression soften a little as he says, “Toni, if anything were to happen to me, you’re the one I want leading. I have to take responsibility for my bad decisions and this is one of them. I trust you with the Serpents, they’re your legacy - maybe even more than mine. You’ll keep them safe. You’ll keep everyone safe.” His gaze flickers to Betty, but it’s gone before she can really process what she saw in there. “Understood.”

She doesn’t look like she wants to agree, but her shoulders hunch and she sits back down. “Understood, Jughead. But I swear if you get killed out there I will find a way to resurrect you just so I can eviscerate you myself.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. Now, I’ll need two people to join me. If we’re dragging bodies, I can’t do it myself and I want us to watch out for each other. Two was too small, but any more than three and we’ll need more supplies and draw a lot of attention to ourselves.”

Sweet Pea stands, raising his hand into the air. “I’ll go.”

Fangs is right beside him in an instant. “Me too. It’s been a while since we really got a chance to knock some Ghoulie skulls.”

Jughead laughs, “Well the hope is that we won’t have to fight anyone, but I trust you both to keep me and each other safe. Any objections?”

“Just one,” Cheryl taps her glass again, eyes narrowed. “You’re sending three close-range fighters out into the forest. You shoot your gun once and you’ve got a crowd of them on you in an instant. You need a sharpshooter of a different kind to watch your backs. I’m coming with you.” It’s strange to Betty still that Cheryl can simply announce things and they come to be the truth. That confidence has always been something she’s been jealous of. But now there’s something worse gnawing at her chest. If both Jughead and Cheryl go, what are the chances neither of them come back? Then she’s alone again, with only Veronica and Kevin to keep her upright in the aftermath.

“Cheryl, don’t,” Toni and Betty speak out at once and they both look at each other surprised.

“No, I’ve made my decision TT, cousin. This is something I’m going to do. Those boys will be fools to go out there without me, or anyone watching their back, and you know I’m the best you have. I don’t plan on letting myself get killed and I have enough self-preservation to not let ego keep us there any longer than necessary. You take Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber out there with you and they’ll pick fist fights with the deer.”

It looks like Sweet Pea wants to say something in protest, but Jughead holds up his hand to silence the slow humming in the room. His eyes are narrowed as he studies Cheryl up and down. Finally, he nods. “Alright. Cheryl’s coming with me. Fangs, Sweet Pea. You’ll have to decide which one of you is going to stay behind.”

Everyone is surprised when the two turn to each other and, with a single nod begin playing Rock, Paper, Scissors. Sweet Pea curses when he’s squashed by a rock. “Best two out of three!”

“Come one, I won fair and square!” Fangs laughs, “You’re just upset you won’t get to get another crack at breaking Malachi’s leg the way he broke yours.”

“Best two out of three, man! I deserve that right and you know it!”

Begrudgingly, they go again, and this time it’s Sweet Pea who’s victorious, twice in a row, raising his hands above his head in triumph. “You have a tell. Once I get you figured out, it’s smooth sailing.”

“You can’t have a tell in Rock, Paper, Scissors!”

“Don’t be so bitter down there, Fangs, I promise I’ll bring you back a piece of Malachi to chuck in the bone fire. Maybe a few of his teeth.”

Jughead shakes his head, “Settle down everyone. So the team is going to be me, Cheryl, and Sweet Pea. I want everyone to take the night to get their affairs in order. Tomorrow, right after sunrise, we’re going to head out. If we aren’t back in two days, Toni will take over permanently. I want you to fortify the walls and maybe reach out to Greendale and the City for assistance. Whatever they’re planning, it’s not good.”

“But just for the record,” Cheryl interjects, taking a drink of her water, “We’ll be back in a day and a half. I’m not spending any longer than I have to chasing after disgusting wannabes in Fox Forest. Besides, I can’t go that long without a kiss from my TT.”

When everything has settled down and the Serpents are left to their own devices, those on the mission tomorrow are reprieved from duty tonight so they can be properly rested and Betty goes to Jughead again. She’s been trying to mull over what she wants to say. Nothing has felt right, or good enough, but she knows she needs to say something, especially when they’ve been trapped in a strange emotional limbo ever since they kissed during their more than friendly game of pool.

“Jug….are you sure about this?” She’s not sure why that’s the only thing she can think to say. It feels bland and accusatory, but she’s trying to keep back the tears that are threatening to spill out at the idea he’s about to launch himself into trouble. She has already seen one too many bodies slowly turned by Diseased. Watching Jughead go through the same transformation as her sister is not something she thinks she can handle.

Jughead sighs, pulling her into his lap so he can bury his head in the crook of her neck. “I know it’s not ideal, Betty, but it’s something I need to do.”

She lets her hands travel through the soft black curls. Their bed is going to be empty for two days, maybe longer if something goes terribly wrong, and she wonders how impolite it would be to ask Veronica for a spot in her guest bedroom. “I understand, Juggie, I do. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Only if you do the same. You have a way of getting yourself into the most interesting kind of trouble.”

The joke is half-hearted but she laughs anyway, before falling silent. His embrace helps hold her together as every fracturing part of her heart threatens to turn and destroy her from the inside out. The walk home that night was quiet as the drudged through the snow hand in hand, her wool socks absorbing the moisture in the air. By the time they were home both of them were shaking and Jughead worked overtime to get the fire crackling. Smoke scared off the Diseased, but it made the house warmer too.

As sunny days grow shorter and winter encases the whole of Riverdale with sheets of ice and beds of snow, everyone has prepared in different ways. Jughead spends his mornings chopping wood to go into the town stockpile. He drags their allotted amount home and starts up a fire to keep them going through the night. Veronica’s preserving has increased exponentially as a way to keep the foods from the harvest edible for as long as possible. She’s up to her ears in orders and when Betty isn’t training, she is cutting strawberries and canning apples.

Last week, Jughead and Betty had dragged the spare mattress from the guest room into the living room, so they could lay by the fire. The heat didn’t always travel throughout the house the best and this way it was easier to wake up and toss a log when things got colder. Ethel had been in charge of knitting most of the blankets, but ever since she returned everyone has had to make do with whatever scraps they can dig up and the kindness of neighbors who had a few to spare.

Quilting is a role Betty has slipped into with ease. Her mother used to teach her to make quilts out of old clothes. Veronica had helped her collect them, as going around to strangers in a town that was still cautious of her and asking them for things was not the easiest thing to do. After explaining what her goal was, people were more eager to help, and soon Betty found herself with more than a few worn out shirts and dresses. Most of her spare time is dedicated to sewing. She’s going to be making blankets until summer time at this rate.

Her first failed attempt is sitting on Wyatt’s bed at the Andrew home. The second sits on her and Jughead’s shared mattress, the seams a little wobbly, but held together by the sheer determination of stitching. The hobby helps to calm her, fills her with purpose, and tonight she needs that as she tries to keep her mind from dwelling too long on what-ifs and most likelies. She sits on the couch and pulls out her overflowing box of fabrics and gets to work.

It’s silent aside from the rip of a newspaper, as Jughead throws a few scraps of it into the fire for kindling. She is mesmerized by the way it paints the small space in reds and orange, illuminating his face in the same way it had the first night she stumbled into Riverdale. Betty hardly even registers the pinprick of her needle until a small drop of blood has swelled onto the tip of her finger and splatters on her blanket.

“Shit,” she says softly, reaching for the fabric scrap pile so she can tie something around the wound to keep it from bleeding on anything else.

Jughead smiles up at her and laughs. “Did you get yourself again?”

“Maybe.”

But he’s already on her, wrapping her finger with such carefulness Betty is practically left breathless. It’s strange how intimate this feels, how intimate it’s always felt, as he tends to her wounds. Perhaps in another life, Jughead would have been a doctor. Or maybe a writer. Someone who uses their hands to create, not destroy, not like the burden that rests so heavily on his shoulders now.

When her finger is tied she can still see the blood spot on her blanket, evidence of her mistake, she starts to feel a little sick to her stomach. She doesn’t like the idea that her next few days will be sitting at home or practicing with a disgruntled Toni and Fangs or canning foods while Veronica pretends she isn’t worried or nervous about Jughead’s return. She wonders if this is what women felt like during wars before the Outbreak, waiting for the husbands to come home. She wishes she could go with him, but the truth of the matter is she can’t. It’s foolish to think she’s even close to capable enough yet for a mission this important. Despite how far she’s progressed, there’s more to learn, about the Serpents and about herself. But one day soon she knows she’ll be able to defend the people of this town in the way she so desperately wants to. Until then, she’ll make quilts and wait.

“You’re worried,” Jughead says softly. He moves the blanket from her grasp. “I don’t know if I should be offended you don’t trust me to come back alive or flattered that you care so much.”

She shakes her head. “I know in theory you’ll be okay. You’re one of the strongest people I know, but Jug I don’t know if I can handle seeing any more bodies of people I care about.”

“Betty, if I have anything to say about it you won’t. I don’t plan on dying out there, especially when I have so much unfinished business here. I’ll be back in two days. Probably less if Cheryl has anything to say about.”

It’s all consuming, the feeling she gets, to reach out and capture his lips. She doesn’t let herself think as they kiss, as she falls forward off the couch and into his lap. They wind up on the mattress somehow and soon they’re tangled together. Layers of clothes join each other in a puddle on the floor. First their jackets, then their shirts, their pants, until finally they’re bare before each other.

The warmth of the fire licks at her skin as his eyes and hands work to consume her, laid out before him like the last supper of a man doomed to die. She shivers, not from the cold, but anticipation as she feels his callouses trace along the sensitive flesh on her inner thighs. It’s been a long time since someone has touched her so tenderly and when one finger presses inside her she gasps. When her nails dig into his back, Jughead hisses but doesn’t complain. Perhaps the pain reminds them to feel, reminds him that this is a mortal body that can be hurt, that he is a man that can fall so easily.

Desperation lines in every frantic movement. His thumb brushes her clit and Betty nearly cries out, having to bite the inside of her lip to keep herself quiet. They’re alone in the house but alone is never the truth when just outside she can hear the slow clamoring of Diseased, as hungry as she feels but for different reasons. His tongue traces along her collarbone as a searing heat starts to unfurl in her stomach and as stairs paint the ceiling above her.

“Jughead,” she pants, tangling her hands in his hair, grounding her in the reality of this moment. “Jughead, yes.”

The way he touches her is divine and she only hopes to return the favor as she tumbles over her peak, head thrown back in ecstasy. She chants his name, words tumbling off her tongue as the very essence of him floods her senses. The world fades away in the throws of passion and for a few hours, they allow themselves to forget the horrors of the night and the worries that accompany sunrise. After she’s chased her pleasure she becomes determined to find his.

Betty ends up on top this time, her own hastily placed kisses working down his body to claim her prize. When her mouth wraps around his cock, she hears the ghost of a curse fall forward, those fingers that had worked her so hard now coming to tangle in the messy tendrils of a forgotten ponytail. She pulls back with a pop and makes use of her tongue. She wonders if he can feel her walls crumble as her emotions spill forward into every careful caress.

_ Don’t die on me. _

_ Please. Please don’t leave me alone. _

Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t understand and simply allows himself the blackout release that pours down her throat. Betty swallows with practiced ease and rests her head against his thigh for a moment before she’s pulled back up and their lips are locked together. The rest of the night is filled with half asleep kisses, touches that linger too long in certain places until one of them is quivering again. He looks a mess beside her, sweaty with bruised lips, and she’s content to know he won’t be able to forget her on his mission.

When they finally allow themselves to sleep, she’s practically consumed with fear as flashes of Polly’s lifeless body illuminate themselves to her. She’s in a snow white field, surrounded by nothing. She stumbles forward to fight in the darkness until she sees Polly standing before her. The girl shouts, stumbles backward, begging someone-- _ Betty _ \--not to shoot. Another flash and there's a gun in Betty’s hand. She doesn’t want to, she doesn’t even bring it up, but a gunshot rings out and her sister is dead on the ground. Red. The color of the strawberries mashed to make Veronica’s jam. The color of death. Lightning flashes once again and the body before her now isn’t Polly’s, it’s Cheryl’s and then Toni’s and Sweet Pea’s and finally, Jughead, cold and lifeless, alone with blue lips. Scattered around her are the dead and soon there isn’t a single place to step that isn’t red.

Betty screams out, sitting straight up in bed. The fire has died down to a faint hum but she’s sheened with sweat and it’s not until Jughead’s arms, very much alive, wrap around her that she can calm the frantic beating of her heart. The sun has risen and time has run out.

The walk to the Wyrm is just as quiet as the night before, but they cling to each other tightly. Her hand doesn’t let go of his, even as everyone huddles around to wish them good luck as they prepare for their mission. Fangs and Sweet Pea share words that must mean something to them and Cheryl stays planted firmly in Toni’s lap until Jughead knocks on the pool table and says it’s time to go.

It’s ominous and even Cheryl understands the heaviness in the air. She makes no quips or backhanded jokes as they head towards the fence. Toni unlocks the gate, dragging it through the heavy snow until it bangs against the other side. Jughead tries to leave, to join the others, but Betty holds steadfast to his hand.

“Please come back.” She spent all morning mulling over what to say and it feels lackluster. “Please.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she suspects it might be so he doesn’t cry, nodding once and giving her hand a squeeze. Their fingers pry slowly apart and she watches them go. Toni closes the gate and everyone scatters to resume their scheduled activities. It feels more like the snow is cement, gluing her in time and space. It isn’t until Veronica comes to find her and she feels Wyatt’s little hand in hers that she can pull herself from the space.

“Come on, Betty, you can stay with us tonight.” She never asked, but she’s glad her friend can tell that being in an empty cabin is the last thing she wants.

 

* * *

 

It feels cold out here in Fox Forest, but Jughead really shouldn’t be surprised by that. It’s winter in upstate New York and there isn’t an inch of ground that isn’t covered in snow. Every time he breathes he can watch the air condense around it. Why is winter always so white, feigning innocence and purity when it kills without pity. They don’t know exactly where the Ghoulie camp is, but it must be close enough that Ethel could run there on her own. 

“Well isn’t this lovely,” Cheryl breaks the tension with a scoff, kicking her boots up and pulling her red coat tighter around her. “The weather is terrible and there’s no sign of the Ghoulies anywhere. This mission might be a bust.”

“You didn’t have to come. Fangs was supposed to. If you’re just going to stand there and bitch we can turn around and go get him,” Sweet Pea snaps.

Jughead is quiet while they bicker, trying to find a good place to set up camp while they look for clues. There’s a clearing in the sun not too far off. Some of the snow has melted and it won’t be as wet on their blankets. He loathes these missions outside the safety of Riverdale and, not for the first time, he wonders how his father lives out here like this. A drunken man in isolation probably kept alive by pickling himself no doubt.

After setting up they manage to find a trail leading to where the Ghoulies are camped out. Sweet Pea tries to jump right out, but Cheryl and Jug keep him back. This isn’t something they can rush into. They’ll spend tonight taking turns on watch, trying to figure out what’s going on in camp, before they confront Penny and her gang.

Sweet Pea is on first watch and when he comes back he’s pale and sick to his stomach, crouching down by a tree as he throws up. Despite Cheryl’s chastization, they both sit there worried until he can speak. This is a man who once ate tree bark to prove a point and seeing him so shaken is beyond troubling.

“It’s just like Ethel said,” he says softly, “but I think it’s worse. I say...I saw Penny holding this thing on a leash. It looked liked Malachi, Jones, but it was….he looked broken. He looked Diseased, and he kept snarling and pulling on this chain she had hooked to him. And then, fuck it was bad. I saw them pull something out a bag and it looked  _ human _ like an arm or something, and they tossed it at him to eat.”

It used to be a rumor that the Ghoulies were cannibalistic, to keep younger Serpents from wandering too far out into the wilderness to earn their stripes and prove their worth. For fiction to become reality was sickening. Cheryl took watch next but by then everyone had gone to bed and there were no bloody horrors to witness. Still, she described the stench of decay that clung to every person who stumbled under her perch in the trees. Something rotten had come to Fox Forest.

The next morning Jughead, Sweet Pea, and Cheryl walk right into Penny’s camp with as much determination as possible, hoping to repel whatever horror she’s managed to brew up. The first thing that hits him is the smell. It’s so nauseating he hears Cheryl gag before pulling her scarf over her nose and mouth. He wishes he has one to do the same, opting to momentarily become a mouth breather to ensure his eyes don’t start watering in the middle of negotiations. The camp is eerily empty for it being midday. A few stragglers watch them enter, eyes red from something, quiet aside from the crunch of snow under their intruder boots.

Penny exits a small makeshift tent, dressed in chains and leather, swinging a baseball bat back and forth. It’s intimidation 101 and Jughead has to force Sweet Pea back to keep him from attacking. He can see dried blood on the nails she’s dug into the old wood. Everything is cracking and broken, like most of the Ghoulie camp, but he’s still pretty sure it would hurt crushing in his skull, so he makes sure to stay a safe distance back.

“What the hell do you Serpents want?” she asks. “You chase me out of Riverdale and then come to take my land?”

“No one chased you out, Penny. You were selling the surplus to the Ghoulies when you know damn well people needed that in the stockpile. You got caught, you got kicked out, those are the rules.”

Penny snorts and gestures to Cheryl, “And I’m sure her and Pinkie are getting fired for fraternization too? Or are we only cherry picking which rules we listen to now post-apocalypse? Are the Andrews family finally owning up to their little mistake? Did you throw the kid into the fire? Pity if I missed that show.”

“This is how it’s always been,” he manages to grind out. A dig on the Serpents is one thing, and he knows Cheryl is feeling haughty beside him, her fingers itching at the bowstrings, but the Andrews’ have always been his kryptonite. “We made a decision about Wyatt, one we voted on. It’s not my fault you were in the minority.”

“Just barely. But fine. I see your point. What about the no outsiders ban then, hm? Or has your blonde snooze of a ponytail girl gotten it easy because she’s snuggled up with the leader? We saw her, you know, our scouts were watching as that bus broke down on the highway. Those idiots were such easy pickings, but she was smart enough to get away. I would have offered her a place here with us if she hadn’t decided to drink the snake oil.”

Penny has always been able to read Jughead like a book, and it irritates him more than her ramblings. To his surprise, it’s Sweet Pea who steps forward. “You shut your dirty mouth about her, traitor.”

“Hey! You keep your attack dog back, Jones, before I send mine out on you. Malachi’s been chomping at the bit for a while now and I’m sure he’d love another crack at Flower Petal’s bones.”

“Sweet Pea, back off,” he warns and pushes him back. “I’m not here to fuck around, Penny, I’m here because four guys I had searching around Fox Forest on a gathering mission disappeared and I want answers about where they are.”

She snorts and takes a step forward. “Is that what we’re calling sending two sets of spies at me? Let’s say, hypothetically, I ever even saw your guys, what makes you think I’d ever fucking tell you? Good news is, I didn’t. I doubt they even made it here. Not every group has grit like mine to make it out where the Diseased run rampant. It’s not like we can go back home and rest our heads, like a certain group can. We have to make do with what we have. And it makes us stronger. Tougher. So what do you say we have a little contest of strengths? May the best person take Riverdale.”

“You’re getting senile, witch,” Cheryl snips. “Like hell, we’d ever take you in a fight. But why even bother, especially when you know you’d lose. I’d get you right between the eyes before you could even say skin damage.”

“It’s cute, you think I’d be willing to get my hands dirty for a couple of Serpent punks like you three. No, I was thinking about testing out my new ideas. I think you’ll like them Jonesy, especially since you’ve got a thing for City made goods.”

Jughead realizes, moments too late, that they’ve stumbled into a trap. He shouts ‘fall back!’ but it’s nearly too late. The snow is thick and nearly impossible to run through. They’ve barely made it a few feet when he can hear something snarling and gnashing, Penny shouting at it to calm the fuck down and be quiet, promising to reward it with food.

Everything that happens after that is in bullet time. They make it a few feet away from camp when the noises get louder and soon enough they’re face to face with someone that looks that has the vague feel of humanity. Its skin is white and veiny like most Diseased, eyes glassy as it foams at the mouth, patches of black hair missing from its scalp. Its clothes are feminine, so perhaps in a past life, it was a woman of wealth and importance. Now it’s an agent of chaos and death.

Normally, Diseased clamber. They’re easy to get by with enough wits and movement, but this thing manages to lunge out, grabbing onto Jughead’s leg and pulling his whole body forward. He collapses into the snow with an oof and for the second time this year there’s something snarling above him and he’s wondering how the hell he’s going to escape. But then, again, just before it’s mouth is about to clamp around him, it’s thrown off and Sweet Pea helps him to his feet.

The Diseased stumbles back, eyes wide and furious now. It moves nearly as quick as a human. Only instead of charging mindlessly again, this time it picks up a small stick and throws it towards the group. It’s dexterous and even Cheryl seems scared. “What the hell is that, Jughead? Diseased can’t do that!”

“They’re not supposed to.” But every other coherent thought he has is blocked out when it charges again and he has to dodge out of the way to keep himself from being subjected to yet another wrestling match with a rabid beast.

It’s enraged, throwing itself around in anger, the first emotion other than hunger he’s ever seen from one of these things. Everything about this moment is terrible, confusing, and he can tell his friends are more than a little taken aback. Cheryl misses her shot. She’s never missed one before, not in all the years he’s known her, and when she curses and tries to notch again she stumbles and ends up shooting into the sky. The arrow falls somewhere off in the distance with a thud and the Diseased charges again.

This time Jughead has enough forethought to cock his gun and shoot at the chest. The bullet cuts through rotted flesh and blackened arteries, and it starts to bleed into the snow, crying out in agony. Normally they slump to the ground, accept their defeat or run off somewhere to die like a wounded animal. This thing only gets angrier.

He’s not sure why Penny hasn’t sent another creature after them. Maybe she just wants to scare them away or warn them about what she’s capable of, but either way, the message is loud and clear and they’re all scared shitless. Despite the wound, the bleeding, it tries to charge again. It’s slower now thanks to the wound but it’s gnashing teeth are dangerous to them all even with their thick coats on. Sweet Pea kicks out hard, knocking the creature down. It twitches a few times before the corpse becomes inanimate again and they’re able to catch their breath.

“What the fuck?” Sweet Pea mutters - a feeling that’s echoed by both Cheryl and Jughead. “What the actual fuck? I thought I saw it all last night but what the fuck?”

Cheryl nods and takes a shaky breath as she attempts to compose herself. “We should….we should take it back, to figure out what the hell happened, compare it to other Diseased, and then burn it so we know it can’t come back.”

“Yeah,” Sweets agrees, “Yeah we should.”

After that, it’s all a blur. He reaches down to pick the thing up and Jughead’s too late when he sees the flicker of life in its eyes. But then there’s blood. There’s blood everywhere, painting the white red and Cheryl is screaming and her hair is red and his hands are red too, clutching tightly to the wound on Sweet Pea’s neck as an arrow plunges deep into the skull of this monster Diseased.

“Oh fuck,” Sweet Pea mutters, and even though Jughead is promising him they’ll figure this out, everyone knows it’s too late. He’s bleeding too much and they can’t exactly chop off his head to keep this from spreading. From his pocket, Sweet Pea pulls out a knife and presses it into Jughead’s hands. “Do it.”

And then there’s more blood because this is what his Serpents want and a dying wish is something it’s his job to grant. There’s no more light, no more mirth behind those brown eyes and Cheryl is yelling at him to move because they have to make it back to Riverdale. They’re sitting in a pool of blood and if Penny doesn’t catch wind of it a horde of Diseased is bound to. She tells him to leave the dead weight behind, even as she helps him pick up Sweet Pea’s other side.

No Serpent left behind. Even in death.

 

* * *

 

“Okay Wyatt,” Betty smiles and sets five strawberries out in front of him. “Can you count how many we have?”

The little boy thinks for a minute, his face scrunched in the same way Archie’s gets when he’s concentrating especially hard on something. “One. Two. Tree. Five. Six! Six berries.” He reaches out to eat one and Veronica knocks his hand away without looking up from her slicing with the practiced ease of a mother.

“Oh, so close buddy! There’s five berries. You forgot to count four, but I’m so proud of you for getting as close as you did. I’m sure you’ll get it next time.”

The Andrews have been the perfect distraction from all her worries. Fred sits with her while she sews, trying to teach his shaky hands to get the stitches right. She always encourages him in the same way she encourages Wyatt, though she suspects Grandpa Andrews is humoring her more than anything. Archie hangs out in the kitchen when he’s not running around patching winter roofs and chopping up wood. Usually, there’s a Wyatt sitting on his shoulders as they both snatch fruits from Veronica’s grasp.

“Oh!” he laughs and snatches a berry. “Now there’s tree!”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Uncle Jughead is rubbing off on you way too much. I’m going to tell him he’s not invited anymore. Betty’s replaced him as my favorite.”

“Careful. If Jughead ever hears he was your favorite you’ll never hear the end of it,” Betty teases.

Everything feels idyllic here and she’s allowed to forget the worries of everything in favor of simply being. They have a comfortable routine that starts when the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. She’s happy in this place. It reminds her of what a home should be.

Veronica’s about to open her mouth to retort, and the rise of her hand makes Betty think she might be about to get a dress full of berry slush, but suddenly the house rattles are the door is thrown open. Toni rushes forward, eyes wide and frantic.

“Betty, you have to come with me to the Wyrm now. Jughead’s back.”

It’s supposed to be good news, that the party has returned but it’s obviously by the redness in her eyes that Toni has been crying about something. Betty assumes the worst and feels her stomach contract in pain. This can’t be happening. Whatever she’s holding clatters to the ground as the cheerful atmosphere quickly dissipates. Veronica picks up Wyatt and promises to come and join the group whenever Archie comes home while she all but pushes Betty out the door. She stumbles, blinking rapidly before she takes Toni’s outstretched hand and follows.

When she enters the Whyte Wyrm, it’s a nightmare. She scans the room and the carnage is evident. Fangs is sitting in the corner, consoled by a Serpent who’s name she doesn’t know, as he mutters over and over ‘it should have been me.’ Near the back is Cheryl, sitting pale and white, bow in her lap as she idly tightens the string, eyes unseeing off in the distance. She can’t see Jughead and immediately she’s sure he’s gone. If it weren’t for Toni’s sturdy grasp on her shoulder, she would have fallen to the ground in despair.

Finally, her gaze settles on on the pool table in the center of the room, the one that only a week ago she’d been laughing as Jughead chased her around. She pushes through the crowd of leather but it isn’t him she sees on the table. This man is dead, cold and white with dried blood on his shoulder and his chest. She can already see the veins darkening in his skin--a clear sign of an infected body. But it isn’t Jughead. It’s Sweet Pea and he isn’t laughing or teasing her about how she missed her mark while throwing, or walking around the room with enough bravado to lighten the terse barely breathable air. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a shell of what once was.

And just like that, another body falls.

She’s crying, but it doesn’t feel cathartic. Instead, it feels bitter and acidic on her tongue and maybe it’s the smell of slow decay but before she can’t stop herself she’s hunched over a trash can throwing up. There’s guilt in her relief. Jughead isn’t dead, but someone else she loves is. She wonders if Toni feels the same, now sitting beside Cheryl, rocking her gently as both women begin to weep.

The staircase of the Wyrm creaks under the heavy weight of leather boots and soon enough Jughead Jones descends upon his militia. The weight of the silence is nearly suffocating as everyone turns to him expectantly for answers. For a brief moment, their eyes meet and she sees the swirl of emotions--relief that she’s alive, pain over the loss of his friend, acceptance, fear, heartbreak.

“You bastard!” Fangs’ voice is filled with pain and no one can muster up enough to blame him. “You let him die! He’s dead and it’s all your fault and you drug him here for everyone to gawk at!”

“He deserves a Serpent’s pyre, Fangs, you know that. It’s what he wanted and I’m not going to deny him that. I understand you’re hurting -we all are -so do what you want. Scream. Cry. Yell. Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better. I don’t….I don’t care anymore,” the defeat in his voice is obvious, a resignation that shatters Betty’s heart. Fangs sits back and starts to cry again as Jughead speaks. “Today, we lost someone who’s been close to all of us for a long time. Sweet Pea was one of the bravest Serpents we’ve ever had and his death is not going to pass without a lot of aftershocks. But we know that this comes with our jobs, what we do. To die for the people of Riverdale is to go honorably. We live in hell. It’s cold and it’s exhausting and it’s thankless. We’re thrown aside forgotten by the City officials who are too busy fixing their own mistakes to bothering  looking out for anyone else. He did what he had to do, what he signed up to do, and we’re going to honor him the way he deserves. Tonight, before sunset, we’ll get in the Rite of Passage.”

There’s a quiet murmuring of agreement and he turns to the elder group of Serpents and begins delegating orders. “Go set up the pyre. If someone can go see if my dad’s wandering aimlessly around town and tell him what happened, that would be great, but if we can’t then whatever. He turned his back on us a long time ago and I don’t expect him to come back for this.”

When all the business has settled, Betty runs to him, throwing her arms tightly around his neck. “You’re alive,” she whispers against his skin as her hands explore the planes of his chest for confirmation that he stands here before her breathing.

“Just barely,” his laugh is mirthless as he brings the palms of her hands up so he can kiss them, before setting them back down against his heart. “I’ll tell everyone what happened, tomorrow. Cheryl and I both will. But tonight we need to mourn and celebrate still being alive the best way we can. I’m sorry, that you’ll have to see what a Serpent Rite looks like, we all sort of hope no one will have to.”

She pieces together that what they keep talking about must be a funeral of sorts. She’d only ever been to one, a small little gathering at the City’s one cemetery plot where her father’s headstone sat. There was no body to bury as it had been left with everything else back in Riverdale. She hardly remembered anything but the sound of her own sobs and the gentle squeeze of Chic’s hand in hers.

Betty runs a hand through his hair and kisses him, trying to show her joy at his survival, to push past all the pain they’re both experiencing. It’s hard to think happy thoughts when there’s a dead body only a few feet away. She wonders, held tightly in his arms, how many more Rite’s she’ll have to see.

Everyone moves quickly after that, each person assigned a job to help the funeral proceed as quickly as possible. She understands the urgency. Despite her knowledge that the dead cannot simply rise up from a pool table and begin feasting, the Serpents have their culture and she can pick up on the importance of an immediate cremation to them. Old chairs are broken apart, throw haphazardly into an enclosed bonfire. It’s obvious to her this setup has been used before and the reality of it hits her heart. She’s always known how privileged she was to have been raised in the City, without the fear of death constantly looming overhead, but now it hits her hard.

Jughead stays close by her side, dragging her around, as unwilling as she is to let go of their joint hands. All the Serpents gather around as the fire rages before them. Fangs is clutching a box of Sweet Pea’s things and he walks towards her, steps uneven as he staggers. From the cardboard  he pulls out a small set of knives.

“He would have wanted you to have these. We’re technically supposed to burn everything they used to own but….” He looks to Jughead for approval, who simply nods as Betty accepts the gift.

“They’re beautiful,” she says softly, eying the engraved silver knives. “Thank you so much. And I’m sorry, Fangs, I’m sorry he’s dead.”

“Yeah. Yeah me too.”

He walks away after that and the funeral starts in earnest. Fangs tosses the box into the fire as Tall Boy and Hog Eye carry Sweet Pea’s body out. It feels wrong, for them to be carrying him like this and before she can stop herself she’s asking them to wait as she runs inside the Whyte Wyrm. She pulls one of her quilts off the back of a cracked leather couch. She remembers fondly how a few days ago he wrapped himself in the blanket like a cape and pranced around the space, making everyone laugh. Her chest tightens painfully and she rushes out, laying the blanket over him.

“It’ll give him some piece,” she says softly. “At least I hope so. Goodbye, Sweet Pea. Thank you for everything you did for me. Thank you for saving his life.”

Betty moves quickly away, back to Jughead’s side as she watches as they pour a bottle of alcohol onto his clothes, soaking him through, before striking a match. They move quickly out of the way as the fire consumes him.

“We burn them so there’s no chance they’ll come back to life,” Jughead says softly from beside her. “I’m sure it seems archaic to you, but it’s what we’ve always done. It’s the Rite of Passage. No one knows where they’re passing to. I hope it’s somewhere better than this. Once he’s finished burning we’ll gather the ashes and scatter them. Fangs will take most of them since he’s who Sweet Pea said should get to do the honors. I get some as leader too, but I...” his voice breaks and she can see the tears start to flow easily from his eyes. “I’ve never had to scatter anyone before.”

Betty squeezes his hand again, reassurance that he isn’t alone, that his tears and pain are valid. She can tell he’s struggling with his pride but eventually, emotions win out and he stares up as smoke fills the late afternoon sky. They’re both crying, maybe everyone here is. 

It takes nearly an hour for the cremation to be done, as everyone sits around and takes turns telling stories. There’s more levity now, but maybe that’s the alcohol being passed around. Everything about her aches as she watches the last of the flames sputter out. The world goes quiet after that as the wind kicks up and paints the snow in grey ash.

Jughead raises his glass, “In unity, there is strength.”

There’s an echo, a chorus of angels, a loud goodbye to their fallen brethren and Betty finds her voice amongst them. “In unity, there is strength.”

Toni helps gather the remains, slipping on the snake ring she finds amongst the unburnt belongings. Fangs gets a jar and promises he’ll ensure these get where Sweet Pea asked him to scatter them.

Sensing Betty’s curiosity, Jughead squeezes her hand and begins to explain. “Everyone’s got one a person they want to scatter their ashes when they pass. Toni and Cheryl have each other. Sweet Pea had Fangs. I think Tall Boy asked Hog Eye to do it.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t have one.”

His answer surprises her and she looks at him with knitted eyebrows. “Why not?”

“I never wanted anyone to have that burden. None of the Andrews are allowed to do it, since they aren’t Serpents, and my dad would probably forget to even come. You can see he’s not here tonight,” he gestures around them with a snort. “I’m sure Toni would end up doing it for me.”

“I’d do it,” she says softly. “Without question. But promise me you won’t ever make me do that?”

“I’m not sure that’s a promise I can make.”

“Then for tonight, lie to me.”

Betty helps him gather some of Sweet Pea’s ashes, feeling sick to her stomach as they trudge through the snow. The sun is descending quickly and they don’t have much time to finish their business. Jughead seems apprehensive as he stares down at his little jar, taking a shaky breath. She points to the fence.

“There. We should scatter part of him around the fence. So he’ll always be helping protect us. I think he would have liked that.”

He sniffles, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I think he would. Will you help me? I don’t….I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“Of course, Jughead,” Betty squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t ever have to do anything alone again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr [@tory-b](http://tory-b.tumblr.com/) where I accept your hate mail and loud screeches.
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 6: Something Wicked


	6. Something Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my loves! I am so incredibly sorry it's been over a month since I updated this fic. I've been working two jobs and doing a lot and dealing with a lot of personal stuff in my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you all for not only sticking with this fic, but making it award winning. Like I won Overall Fantasy/Sci-Fi fic for this one and I am just so grateful because there are no words to describe how much this fic means to me on a personal level. I adore all of you for voting, for reading, for being part of this journey. 
> 
> As always thank you to @miss--eee my beta who is just always by my side with this fic. I love her, you should love her, and you should go give all her fics some love. She beta's so quick and is the kind of gentle encouragement I always need.

_ It’s fire. It’s all fire. Like Hell has come to Earth and painted paradise in flames. The once quaint little homes of Greendale are nothing more than crackling piles of wood to feed the ever-growing hunger of the beasts. People scream and run and try to hide. She hears her Aunts above the chaos, screaming at people to follow, guiding them towards the woods, away from here. Away from home. Away from hell. _

_ She follows that sound like it’s the last life line she has. And it is. She’s covered in blood, her clothes are stained with the last bits of the only person she thinks she’s ever loved the way you’re supposed to love someone in the way those old books she used to read with her friends said. The ones tucked away in the Romance section of the Riverdale Library her aunts used to bring her back before the City collapsed and trade between even townships was limited at best, nonexistent at worst.  _

_ She wonders if she’ll ever get her clothes clean from this. It’s a strange, pervasive thought, one that chases her the same way the vicious beasts gnawing at her feet do. Her white collared shirt, the one she’d stolen from her dead mother’s wardrobe, isn’t white anymore. It’s an off white pink and she knows she’ll have to burn it like everything else. At least she knows he’s burning and won’t rise from the ashes like some demonic phoenix and end up like the rest of them. _

_ Whatever they are anymore. These Diseased? They’re not the same. They’re not the same they’ve always been, the predictable slow wobble towards the end of a sword, where the only thing you have to watch out for is how sharp their teeth are and how hungry they are. There’s a strange sort of intelligence in their movements. She might even dare to describe it as purpose. They don’t move like clucky corpses hobbled together by sickness, but instead with an elegance that makes everything about them just that more deadly. _

_ Perhaps the most terrifying thing is the look of satisfaction in their eyes when they rip into the flesh of a man trying to protect you with his life, like some dumb fool so sickeningly in love he would do anything for you. She’ll never forget the way that thing tore back with a grim grin before launching towards her. If it weren’t for the quickness of her trigger finger she would be another body in the fire. _

_ The Ghoulies. As she ducks into the trees with her aunts, she sees them. They’re jackets she knows well. Studded leather, skull insignias, a deranged blonde woman standing amongst the chaos, cackling as she points her pets in the direction of people who aren’t fast enough to escape with the rest of the group. This is the worst bloodshed she’s ever seen and the horrors never end. _

_ The screams chase them all the way to Sweetwater River when everyone takes a moment to breathe and recoup. With a shaky breath, she calls them all to line up and counts around one hundred survivors of her sleepy little town, the place where the strange congregate and happiness is never within reach. Hilda is hopeful more will find them but it’s quickly quieted with one look from Zelda who normally seems so utterly unamused by everything and is standing before them all with a quiver in her hands that makes them all even more uneasy than before. _

_ If there are any more survivors, and she hopes there are - begs there are, because these are not all her friends - these are not all the people she and her family swore would be protected under the Greendale Witches, she hopes they will know to go to the one place that might have a snowball's chance in hell in protecting them. It’s  day’s trek there along an old broken down highway but it’s the best chance they have on not dying during the next nightfalls. No one knows how far away the Ghoulies are, but every small crack in the leaves or the howl of the wind through the tree branches sets them all on alert. _

_ The Ghoulies don’t have to sleep, which gives them time. And time is the only currency that matters out here in a lawless world where everyone’s clocks are set to borrowed time and when you die it might be more of a blessing than a curse. _

_ The sign comes into view. Three words that spell out the only safety within the near future. It’s an idyllic little scene destroyed by years of pain, once vibrant hues turned to pastels from the painful beatdown of the sun and neglect. Someone has tried to scratch out the subheading and replace ‘Pep’ with ‘Dead.’ _

_ “Welcome to Riverdale,” Sabrina says softly and she can hear the echo of relief her group shares. “I guess it’s time to see if The Serpents are willing to repay debts.” _

_ She sure as shit hopes they will. _

 

* * *

 

“Wyatt Frederick Andrews, you get that out of your mouth right the hell now!” Veronica cries frustrated, chasing her toddler until she catches him on the curve of the dining room table, pulling him up by the overalls so she can rip the rock he said looked like candy from between her fragile baby teeth.

Betty walks through the doors of the Andrews homes and can’t help but laugh at the scene before her. Fred is sitting at the dining room table, paying no mind to the chaos around him, silently carving a little wooden duck toy for his grandson to play with when he behaved well enough to earn it. The kitchen is a mess of canning goods and the little boy is so upset to have his prized possession taken away he is now face down on the floor screeching like a banshee. Just outside, her and Jughead had run into Archie, chopping wood the Serpent’s help distribute to all the homes during the winter months. He had seemed just as frazzled as his wife, with ginger hair sticking in all directions, a flush on his cheeks that Betty believed might be more from a scolding than the nipping of the frost.

Jughead had raised an eyebrow and laughed. “What the hell happened, man?”

“It’s been a day,” was all he had to offer, the ax coming down into the old stump with a thundering thunk, cleaving the log in half. “Go ahead on in if you want to, but I wouldn’t. Only Dad is safe from the storm.”

Before either of them can offer a proper greeting to the high strung mother, Veronica has tossed Wyatt into Jughead’s arms with a tired, “Oh, thank God.”

Immediately the little boy goes quiet much to her chagrin. Wyatt reaches up and steals the old grey cap from his head and places it directly on his messy hair, beaming brightly. If it weren’t for the snot on his face no one would be any the wiser he had been sobbing only a few seconds ago.

There’s such a delicacy in the way that Jughead holds the little baby and it makes Betty’s heart twist with a kind of emotion she’s not sure how to decipher. He rocks Wyatt and coos little things in his ear about how cute he is, poking at his chubby cheeks. They’re red from the cold and his toes curl is fuzzy wool socks. She wonders, not for the first time, what life would be like outside of how it is now. Would she have ever even met Jughead? Would they have grown up as warring next door neighbors whose parents had years of deep seeded confusion to keep the hate fires burning? Would they be parading through a town of mysteries solving them like Nancy Drew and her Hardy boys?

Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments and she feels a hot flash on her ears that likely matches the one on his. They haven’t talked at all about what transpired between them before he ran off on a suicide mission into the forest. With Sweet Pea’s scattering to do and the pieces to pick up, there hasn’t been much time for talk like that.

At night, he holds her close and begs her not to leave, but when morning light peaks through the cracks in the boarded up windows, he’ll barely brush his hand against hers as they walk through the Market on patrols. It’s been two weeks since then. Not a day goes by that Betty doesn’t think about the fire, the body, the way she said goodbye to another friend she loved so dearly and so fiercely. Every time she looks at him, she wonders if he’ll be another tick in her ever growing body count of loved ones.

“Auntie Betty! Up!” Wyatt wiggles his fists at her, shimmying until Jughead has to adjust to keep him from tumbling right back down to the hardwood floor.

She laughs and opens her arms wide, allowing him to slip right into them, and she tries her best to ignore the spark of electricity when Jughead touches her. “You’re already up, sweetie. See. We’re up in the air. But I’m not sure you should be up or wearing Uncle Juggie’s hat, because I overheard you being a very bad boy this morning. Were you being mean to mommy?”

“No! Not me! It was,” his little face contorts with an effort to make up a fib before he finally fabricates one that sounds good in his head. His points one chubby finger towards Fred, “It was Grandpa! He made a mess.”

“That’s me alright. Messy Grandpa. I’m the one who pulled out all the pots in the kitchen and decided to make bongos out of them. You’ve caught me red handed. Best call Sheriff Keller and have me thrown in the slammer.”

Everyone but Veronica laughs, including little Wyatt who doesn’t know any better than to rub salt in his mother’s wound. She gestures to the chaos. “I have to clean this up and try to can all these before dark. And someone’s deciding to be a terror and that someone’s father has decided he would rather be in the cold than deal with my wrath.”

“Solid choice on his part. I’d probably walk into the forest quicker than have to deal with you.”

She rolled her eyes, “Ha ha. So funny, Jones, a real comedian. What would the town do without you? For that one, I’m assigning you to babysitting duty, no arguments. I need someone to help out before I lose my calmness and start spewing fire like Cheryl Blossom on a bad day.”

“You’re lucky I love this little guy, or I’d say no. What’s in it for me though?”

“The joy of nurturing the youth of his generation,” she saw Jughead’s hesitation and threw her hands in the air before stomping over to a small barrel filled with goods. She procured one cinnamon peach and one apple maple, handing them over like a frustrated haggler on a bad day. “You’re not a cheap babysitter. Those are to share with B, by the way, since she’ll probably be doing all the heavy lifting.”

“I’m sorry, who was watching your son before Betty showed up?”

“Some heathen who can’t keep his shirt clean when he eats,” she smacks a few of the crumbs from the toast Betty made them for breakfast off his shirt, a surprising sort of tenderness hidden beneath the mask of her aggression. There was so much love in this little house sometimes, that it was hard to breathe.

With one last bribe from Veronica -- a few new strips of fabric for Betty to quilt when they went home tonight -- and an unending amount of thank yous, they agree to take Wyatt off her hands so she could finish her canning in relative peace. She hands them a small bag of things to keep him distracted. Betty recognizes books they’ve been practicing letters with, a stuffed animal made of socks he seems to always be holding when he’s asleep, and a few dried fruits and vegetables as snacks. Archie, for his part, tries valiantly to come with them only to be stopped dead in his tracks by his wife and dragged back towards the kitchen. She can hear Fred chuckling to himself as the gentle scrape of his knife through the wood is hidden behind the loud thunk of the front door closing.

Jughead asks Wyatt where he wants to go and the little boy leads them towards the Market they had been to only an hour or so before, adamant on seeing if he can convince one of them to buy him something sweet. Betty suspects it won’t be too hard of a sell for either of them though. She’s always been a sucker for children, and she dearly misses all the little ones she got to help teach back in The City, so moments she gets to shower Wyatt in attention and affection are some of her favorites. It’s also no secret that Jughead would do just about anything to get a laugh out of that little boy.

They end up buying a package of sugared raisins, a few strawberries, and some orange juice that leaves the boy satisfied enough to plop himself on a small wooden bench between them. The benches are an Andrews creation, scattered around town after Archie realized he wanted there to be a place for people crippled like his father to be able to sit and enjoy a moment of respite and peace, staring up at the blue sky and imagining for a moment that they weren’t always teetering on the edge of extinction. There is a strange sort of domesticity that lingers in that moment when her eyes turn to meet his and he’s already looking at her with a gentle smile. His arm is thrown over the back of the bench. When she leans back and relaxes, she feels his hand on her shoulder, a gentle graze so she knows he’s there, and she’s smiling back at him.

“Auntie Betty, say aaaahhh,” Wyatt holds up a juicy red strawberry for her. His fingers are sticky and so is his face, from shoveling them so quickly into his mouth that neither of them had been able to stop the disaster. 

She opens her mouth for him, trying to bite back a little as he misses twice, one of them hitting her nose before he manages to bubble the strawberry onto her tongue. Betty catches it between her teeth and pulls back with a grin. It’s sweet, melting on her tongue in a way she finds delightful. It reminds her of summertime, when the days were long and she and Polly could run as much as they wanted within the City walls, taking the bus to the park without anyone’s permission. It reminds her of the last chime of her school bell and the way the children poured out with excited shouts as papers rained down from the sky.

“It’s delicious. Thank you for sharing, Wyatt. You’re such a good boy.”

He beams in delight and turns to Jughead next, holding up one for him. “Uncle Juggie, it’s your turn.”

Betty watches the exchange and wonders for a moment if they looked this ridiculous a few seconds ago. With a strange confidence that only young kids possess, Wyatt all but punches Jughead’s tongue with the strawberry, splattering his overalls with pink, making his uncle sputter back in surprise.

Wyatt’s eyes go into a wide panic and his little fist hit as close to Jughead's back as he could, no doubt parroting something he had seen countless times before. “Oh no! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, promise. How about we try that again but this time you don’t try to lodge a strawberry into my esophagus.”

“Okay!” he promises with a nod, squaring his shoulders in renewed determination. “Say big aaahhh.”

This time Wyatt doesn’t miss, at least not near as bad as he did the first time, and Jughead manages to not end up with a face or shirt full of berry and instead takes a big bite. Strawberry juice stains his lips pink and suddenly Betty is overwhelmed with a tingle that starts at the bottom of her toes. It calls back a vision to the night before he went on his mission, the night before everything fell apart, when his lips were the very same color as when he pulled himself from between her thighs and stared up at her with pupils blown wide, panting. She thinks perhaps she might be far too open of a book because now he’s smirking at her and licking his lips a little too sinfully for someone enjoying a strawberry on a winter afternoon day.

A particularly cold nip of the wind makes Wyatt shiver and both of them are on him quickly. Betty pulls his coat tighter as Jughead takes his own scarf off and wraps it around the little boy until his face has nearly disappeared behind wool. He laughs, pulling it down so he can bring the last handful of raisins into his mouth. It gets the scarf sticky and Betty wonders how on earth she’s ever going to get it clean again but the smile on his lips is enough to assure her it will be worth it.

She will never understand why it is so many people in this town look down on him, on the Andrews for bringing a little angel into this world. She has seen him at night, after Veronica snuffs out all the candles in the house and presses a single finger to her lips. He mimics her with practiced ease and if sleep doesn’t come as quickly for him as his parents would like, he plays with his grandpa or his toys in relative silence, only the subtle whisper of imagination or a light clatter of wood on wood. If he needs something, he either points or gets close to someone’s ear so he can say it like that. Children are remarkable when given the chance to shine. There is a willingness for growth and learning. This is the world he knows, the only one, so it’s strange to her to think so many people are convinced he will fail inside of it.

After the sweets are gone, Wyatt yawns and puts his head in Jughead’s lap with a soft thud. She thinks it might be past his nap time but the thought of daring to venture back into Veronica’s home is a little intimidating right now even for her so she continues to sit in the sun until Jughead makes a move to change the arrangement. She watches as his hands run through the soft dark hair. When the sun catches it right, there are streaks of red undertones that she’s sure Veronica notices every morning as she brushes his hair, a smile on her lips, reminding him that he is so much like his father and is going to grow up and be wonderful like him.

The feeling sneaks up on her at once and then consumes her like a tidal wave. It’s almost hard to breathe  _ Will I ever have children? _

Once upon a time, back when the world was a picturesque fairytale where the radio spewed lies of contentment and perfection, that had never been a doubt in her mind. She was going to meet a lovely man and marry him. They would settle together in one of the cookie cutter townhomes that came City issued for every loyal citizen. They would be allowed somewhere between two and three children, depending on what her husband did. Resources were limited, the Council explained, and it was important to not let anyone push the boundaries during such a cautious expansion of the human race.

It occurs to her that without children, Riverdale will die. Wyatt will have no friends, no one his own age, and eventually, it will mean leaving the safety of the Serpents and forging his own path. She isn’t sure if other townships have similar unspoken codes or if the strange fear that grips those around her is a unique experience just to them. The traumas the town suffered runs deep within each of them and it is no surprise they are leary to bring innocence into a nightmare. It’s hard to imagine this place she occupies a lifeless empty ruin like the few she passed on the City bus coming here. A hollow library. A ghost town. Eventually, the fence would rust and cave and it would be overrun by Diseased taking up space where their victims once dared to rest their heads in search of respite. The thought makes her sick to her stomach and she dares to hope the presence of this little boy signifies a step towards change.

Her hand rests on the wool of his socks as she watches his breathing steady. It’s such a talent, children have, for falling asleep anywhere they want. A sadness grips her heart and as she looks towards Jughead, a man with a similar talent, and wonders what direction they are headed towards. She knows she would walk with him side by side in whatever direction he wanted to go and she prays he will accept her hand when she offers it to him.

It’s like he knows she’s scared. Maybe she’s not as good at hiding her worries as she used to think growing up, but even then Chic would point at the pout on her lips and laugh. Jughead’s hand finds her shoulder, a gentle squeeze of reassurance, but this time he doesn’t pull back. They sit together on the little bench bathing in the sunlight. It hits the snow and flashes of the rainbow glitter before her eyes.

She’s not sure what possesses her to speak, but she does, “When he wakes up, we should build a snowman.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. We used to have snowball fights as kids, and I think maybe once or twice we tried, but the adults hated us stealing things we needed for games. They said it was wasteful.”

Betty is reminded again of their juxtaposing childhoods. She was allowed to live free and carefree in the simple confines of a crystalline prison while he was forced to carry guns and scatter ashes. She wonders who had it worse.

“We never talked about before.” It’s like someone has possessed her body and began puppeteering her tongue. It is a very bold person, someone who knows what they want, but also too shy to be anything more than vague. She means, of course, their night together, but also the events that followed. Neither of them has spoken about Sweet Pea since his scattering and she worried if she doesn’t press the issue they might never.

“What is there to talk about?” His question is genuine, not like the time Nicholas knew exactly why she wanted to talk about him forgetting to visit her when he promised. She has no idea how courtships work in Riverdale or if they exist at all. There are couples, of course, Toni and Cheryl being the most obvious, and marriages that are likely relics of the before time. But in her months here she has never seen the formation of a relationship in the traditional sense. It simply just becomes.

Suddenly, she’s embarrassed about her statement. Yet another Riverdale faux pas. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Yes, you should have, because obviously, you wanted to. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I like you,” he’s so tender when he says it that it punches the air right out of her lungs and the tears that sting at the corners of her eyes are not from the cold. “I like you so much it scares the shit out of me. That’s the honest truth of it. You have to take that sort of thing one day at a time here. We never know what the hell is happening tomorrow. Not a single one of us. If I don’t live in the now I’ll go insane.”

“So what are we now then?”

He smiles at her then and she smiles back. “Whatever you want us to be.”

Perhaps it’s more open-ended than she normally would have wanted, but it settles some of the worries in her heart. The tension in her body eases just a little and his arm settles around her shoulders more firmly than before. Feeling bold, Betty rests her head on his shoulder as she watches the gentle rise and fall of Wyatt’s steady breaths.

When she speaks again, she’s quiet, almost frightened. They haven’t talked about this either. “I’m sorry about Sweet Pea.”

“Aren’t we all? But that comes with the territory of being a Serpent. We’re aware of that risk our entire lives. It’s a choice to make, to be branded as someone who protects Riverdale. Even if you’re born into it you don’t have to follow through. You can say no. But we all said yes. We said yes and that means we’re willing to die if we have to, to protect other people. You don’t have to say you’re sorry to people. You lost him too. Maybe you didn’t know him as long as the rest of us, but you two were still friends, and he was your teacher. Loss hurts. All of it. No matter what you do to try and get used to it, the death of someone stings.”

She nods, keeping her gaze steady on him. She can tell he isn’t done talking, that there’s more he wants to finally let out. Ever since the scattering of Sweet Pea’s ashes, Betty has seen a storm brewing beneath the beautiful blue of his eyes. Summer skylines fade into turbulent monsoon waves whenever he lingers too long.

“He’s the first person to die since I took over. I’ve seen people die before, obviously. But every year it got less and less and I started to think maybe we’re safe. I kept reminding myself we weren’t invincible but every month we went without a casualty got my hopes up. The one other death we had was of natural causes. We still burn the body, but there’s no rush in the proceedings because we know it’s not likely they’ll sit back up and if they do it’s not a hard job to finish. There’s no one to blame but Mother Nature when it’s like that.”

“And you blame yourself now.” It isn’t a question. She knows it’s true, but he isn’t the only one who’s been struggling to cope with a passing they couldn’t prevent. Fangs has been moping around the Whyte Wyrm like a lost puppy, picking up the pool cue but never doing anything with it. She’s heard from Toni that he’s a mess at night and can barely keep himself upright long enough on patrols. “You shouldn’t.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It was my decision to let Sweet Pea go. It was my decision to send Chuck and Moose first when I shouldn’t have. But I don’t have anyone to turn to when I don’t know what to do. There’s no one who’s done this before within earshot that gives a fuck when I’m standing there surrounded by people asking me what we’re going to do next. I hope the alcohol is a better son than I am.” He hums and looks to the sky. A few snowflakes start to fall from the sky, sticking to his eyelashes. “You shift when people think about you. You deflect when others are worried about you.”

“What would make you say that?”

“Takes one to know one.”

She smiles at that and moves an inch closer on the bench. There’s a warmth radiating off of him that helps settle her nerves just enough. When she closes her eyes everything is still painted in red. The ground, the floor, the walls, her hands -- none of it will ever be clean again. There’s a pyre full of bodies, each with faces she recognizes.  But when she opens her eyes everything is a gentle white flurry.

“I never knew how to deal with death. I can’t remember a time anyone ever talked about death back in the City. After we mourned my dad, we all sort of ignored it, which is silly when you think about how all-consuming death really has become for us. Mortality is so palpable. They do a good job of hiding it, but even the Council couldn’t deny that our little City was plagued with the same fears that are here. Propaganda helps, but instead of ever talking about it, when people went missing in the middle of the night or someone’s mom ‘got sick’ we just never talked about it. Instead, they’d read the same short stories over the radio they had been for the past decade.

“So many people I care about are dying. First Polly, now Sweet Pea. I can’t help but wonder who’s next. My mother? Veronica? Or you?” she turns to him and reaches out, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. Jughead relaxes into her touch and turns slightly so he can press a kiss to her open palm. “What if I’m the last one standing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think any of us do. I’m not sure we ever can. We’re strong because we keep living after death because we have to. Sweet Pea’s gone but nothing changes, not at the core of it. The sun still rises. The Market still opens. Wyatt still screams and Veronica still cans her fruits. The Serpent's still patrol every night while the City still fumbles around like blind idiots trying to figure out their mistakes. At night, we crawl into bed and board up the windows hoping we’ll make it through until we do it all over again. Nothing stops. The world doesn’t end. It just goes forward.”

“What if it never stops?” Betty isn’t sure she knows what she’s talking about. The Diseased? The World? The Pain that seems to permeate every step she takes, like the blisters on her feet have healed but the scars will always be there to rub raw.

“It never will. Once one crisis is done I’m sure we’ll stumble into another one,” he shrugs and adjusts Wyatt in his lap, “Or the City will fuck up again. You can count on that like clockwork.”

She laughs, grateful for the easy way he evaporates the tension in the air with a simple joke. If they lingered anymore on that she might have started to spiral again. The topics are light now, as he teases her for her strange City habits and Betty questions him on what it was like to grow up in Riverdale. Under different circumstances, she would have to.

They sit on the bark bench until Kevin comes by and scolds them for loitering, closely followed by Cheryl who makes pointed glances and even more pointed remarks about how  _ close  _ they seem to have gotten lately. 

“Well, well, well, no surprise to see you two cuddled up in public together. Maybe you should learn to keep your hands to yourself though, Jones, you never know what diseases you’re carrying.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Cheryl. Shouldn’t you be on patrol right now though?”

“I’m picking up a snack from the Market so my lovely wife doesn’t get too hungry. You know how poor TT gets when she hasn’t eaten. Mr. Keller, I’m sure you’ve heard all about the new love birds? They’ve been rather inseparable lately.”

Betty groans and contemplates how lucky she would have to be to sprint away from here in the snow. She can’t exactly leave Wyatt but for a second the thought of drowning herself in the snow doesn’t sound entirely unappealing.

“I have not and frankly and Betty, I’m almost offended! I demand answers immediately.” The Sheriff looks between them and she can hear the bells going off in his head. Before he can pounce, Wyatt opens his eyes and clings tightly to Betty’s side, muttering incoherently about something. He makes her promise him they will talk later but there might be no point in it because the second Jughead touches her shoulder and leads her back towards the Andrews house, Kevin has spun to Cheryl, who answers his questions with a knowing smirk.

“Well it all started a few nights ago,” she hears Cheryl say and can’t help but roll her eyes. Leave it to her cousin to have a flair for the dramatics.

After Wyatt feels more awake, he wiggles his way out of her grasp and runs towards a small clearing where the snow is sticking well and he can drag his little pull along duck through it to create tracts. Betty wonders how lonely he is or if he really even knows what lonely might mean. There’s nothing to miss when all he’s known is being the only little boy in Riverdale. 

“Did I tell you what I saw that night?”

His voice startles her and she thinks for a minute before she nods. “Some. Not everything, but I’m not sure everything is what I want to know. You said there was a new kind of Diseased. I think they might be City mutations. The Second Outbreak happened recently and I overheard my mom on the phone a lot talking about cures. Maybe there was a mishap and something they thought would help just accelerated the virus. Obviously, we can’t know for sure, but it’s a possibility.”

“Only a few people know about it. You, Me, Cheryl, and Toni. If Fangs knew he’d go off the rails. He’s already demanding we lead a full assault on the Ghoulies and it’s taken everything I have to keep him from going out there himself on a suicide mission. I don’t want to cause panic but I don’t know what to do. You really think it might be some sort of mutation?”

“Well, it happens. When I was studying to be a teacher, I remember finding these old science books in the library about pathogens and disease. Viruses mutate and this is a virus, right? So it’s a logical conclusion. But then the question becomes what do we do about that?”

“Adapt. I wouldn’t be lying if I said Serpents have been in a rut. Maybe this is a swift kick in the ass we need to upgrade and change the way Riverdale is run to keep things safer. My old man said he never wanted to upset anything, so he’s always run it how he’s always run it, but I’m not sure that’s the right move anymore. Especially if the Diseased are changing too. We have to be faster. What we have on our side is that the Ghoulies are incredibly stupid and hot-headed. They do rash things and make mistakes.”

She watches him with a smile. “Someone’s full of leaderly determination?”

“Am I? Is it a good look?”

“A very good look.”

“The kind of good look that earns you a kiss?” he smirks and takes a step forward. 

It’s so bold and silly that she laughs and meets him halfway. “Maybe it is. So what are you waiting for? Go ahead and kiss me, Juggie.”

His lips are cracked and cold, but his hands on her waist are warm and she feels fire spread throughout her veins with every touch. This is the first time he’s kissed her in public. No one’s around, but she feels emboldened by the affection and dares to wrap her arms around his neck. She never sees people like this out here, but maybe this is the kind of change he’s talking about. There is no weakness in affection, in tenderness, only a renewed well of strength to draw from.

She can taste the promise of a future on his tongue. When Jughead pulls her closer and tighter, it’s like she’s free-falling into the unknown. There are no plans, no well thought out moments, just the simple essence of togetherness. Maybe this is how Veronica and Archie felt. Maybe this is what made them do the unthinkable and chase their happily ever after. To live the best within their circumstances, even when the world wanted to beat them down for it.

The snowball that lands just above her thigh is cold and wet, making her jump back with a surprised yelp. The culprit is standing not far off, little hands flailing as he giggles in triumphant excitement. “I got you, Auntie Betty!”

“Yeah, you did!” She runs forward and scoops him up in kisses. Maybe they’ll be another one just like him running around. Not soon, but one day. She leans forward in a conspiratorial whisper, “But I think it would be more fun if we worked together and got your Uncle, don’t you?” Louder, she adds, “Come on Wyatt let’s make a snowman. I’ll teach you how to roll up a ball.”

Jughead watches them with vague suspicion but doesn’t make a move away. Wyatt is giggling so hard he might have blown their cover if he wasn’t near always bouncing off the walls. They work to compact the snow together and roll it up until it forms the perfect little ball.

“See? Looks great right?” They compare snow. His is a bit misshapen and the snow crumbles if he moves it too much, but he holds it up with pride. “One, two, three!”

Wyatt is a little late on what her countdown means and by the time her snowball has collided with Jughead’s face he’s dodging out of the way of the other one. He stares at them with wide eyes before breaking out into a grin. “I’m gonna get you both.”

There is a lot of screaming after that, a lot of running, a lot of chasing. After the snowball fight is won by a determined Jughead tackling them both into a nearby snowbank, they move onto a proper construction of a snowman. Betty’s scarf is sacrificed to a make their creature come to life and Jughead helps Wyatt collect a handful of round rocks to make eyes and a smile. What they have isn’t perfect -- really it looks more like a half-melted ice cream cone than a man made out of snow -- but Wyatt is so utterly proud of himself when he sticks the two twigs far too low to be arms but too high to be legs that Betty thinks it might be the most beautiful thing she’s ever contributed to.

“I wish it always has snow!”

Betty laughs and brushes some of the white powder out of his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But if it was always snowy, then we won’t be able to appreciate when it is. Besides, if it was always snowy then we wouldn’t be able to have apples or strawberries or cherries or things like that for your mom to make sweet. And that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

“That would be terrible!” He parrots with a wise nod, before turning to Jughead and saying it again.

“Yeah, little man, it certainly would be.” He looks towards the skyline, where the sun has started to fade beneath the horizon. “I think it’s time we took you home though. I bet Mom and Dad and Grandpa miss you like crazy. Auntie Betty and Uncle Jug are selfish and we wanted you to ourselves the whole day.”

“That’s okay. Mom doesn’t like snowball fights. She thinks it is barbaric and juvenile.”

Jughead snorts, pulling the scarf off the half melted snowman and stuffing it in his bag to set to dry in the sun later. “That checks out. Your dad and I used to do it all the time though. I always won.”

The mere thought of his father losing anything sends Wyatt into another bout of hysterics. They all laugh together, right up until they reach the front steps of the Andrews household and Veronica opens the door with a curious raise of her eyebrow. “So I take it we all had fun then?”

“He was a saint like always, V. Wyatt’s such a good kid.”

“For you two, maybe. One night you’re going to have to actually spend the night so you can help me wake him up in the morning. Maybe he’s an angel now, but he’s a devil then.”

“Oh yeah? Must be a trait he picked up from his mother.” From seemingly out of nowhere, Veronica produces a spoon and throws it just pass Jughead’s face, a warning that he mostly ignores and probably always will.

Wyatt clings to his mother now, exhausted from all the playing. “Can you say thank you and goodnight to Auntie Betty and Uncle Jug, Wyatt?” The words that come out are jumbled, but they’re sweet all the same and any faux hostility in the air melts away. “Are you sure you two don’t want to stay the night? It’s getting late.”

“It’s not a long walk back, Ronnie. Besides, Jug and I are on border patrol tonight. We have to leave and reprieve Toni and Cheryl of their duties here soon anyway. Thank you for offering and I promise soon I’ll take you up on the offer.”

It was an unspoken transition for Betty, from cautious interloper on Serpent activities to willing participant. The day after Sweet Pea’s ashes were scattered, Jughead asked her to patrol with him, and after that, she never stopped. Sometimes she’s out with Toni. Those nights are quiet and reflective. Some nights with Cheryl, where they play cards perched on the top of the Farm’s neighboring houses to keep the Diseased away from their crops. Most of the time she’s with Jughead and fear grips her a little less tightly than it did the night before.

Veronica doesn’t like it. That’s not really a secret to anyone. She hardly even likes that Jughead is a Serpent, despite only having known him as such, and being fully aware it is because of his status that they’re afforded the luxuries they are. Over quilting, she’s quietly mentioned how she doesn’t like having to worry about another person she cares about not coming home the next morning all in one piece.

“Be careful?” It’s a moment of vulnerability and Betty nods, pulling the woman who has become her best friend so quickly into a tight hug.

“We always are, Veronica,” Jughead reminds her softly. “Stay safe and remember to lock up tight.”

“I always do.”

They leave after that, walking hand in hand towards the spot they promised to meet Toni and Cheryl to exchange shifts. There is a thickness in the air that puts her on edge. It’s almost like smoke, staining the sky gray. Maybe it’s a small forest fire miles away from them. Betty tries not to dwell on the possibilities, but she’s not anymore at ease when she notices Jughead stiffen and look to the sky with the same curiosity she has.

“You’re late,” Toni teases, hoping off the ledge like a cat who’s living off of borrowed lives. She lands in front of them with an unceremonious thud but her agility is something Betty envies. “Wonder what you were up to.”

Cheryl grins and giggles. “My, my, I can’t imagine. Perhaps melting some ice caps? I hope you at least had the decency to hide yourself. No one wants to take a look at that,” she gestures towards Jughead with a smile, offering him an almost affectionate insult. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone blind yet, Cousin.”

“Haha. You’re so funny. Making fun of the guy in charge of shifts is the best thing to do.”

“Right,” she waves him off, “Like you already aren’t giving us some of the worst shifts because you don’t trust anyone else to keep an eye out for what it is you’re really after.”

“Speaking of, any sightings?”

The conversation goes serious after that, as Toni and Cheryl break down anything suspicious they might have seen during their shift. There was something happening to the west, though neither of them could make out what. It could have been as innocuous as a deer getting munched on by a hungry Diseased.

Toni bites her lip, mulling over her words as she speaks with care. “The good news is, no new and fresh creepy crawlies. But maybe that’s the bad news too. They know we know about them, so the fact that they’re keeping quiet doesn’t make sense. It isn’t like Penny to pass up an opportunity to fuck with us.”

“Maybe she’s not as in control of her sideshow freaks as she wanted us to believe before,” Cheryl offers. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in charge of all those rabid dogs. I bet they caught her off guard one night and we don’t have to worry about the Ghoulies for the rest of our lives.”

Jughead shook his head and pulled out a cigarette. Betty hadn’t seen him smoke in a long time, but he still had a habit of pulling it out and twisting it in his fingers or putting it in his mouth when there was something he couldn’t quite get a hold of. “We’re not that lucky. And Penny isn’t stupid. She’s cocky, but not the type of person who would make anything but a calculated gamble weighted heavily in her favor. If she thinks she’s got an ace with those creatures on her side, then she probably does. But she also isn’t going to just swing in blindly without preparation. I bet they’re watching and waiting, buying their time while she experiments with all aspects of the mutation. She’ll be looking for a moment of weakness which just means we can’t give her one. I know it’s not ideal, but I’ll probably double up on patrols. I want three groups making laps from now on.”

“Jug, we don’t have those kinds of numbers right now.” Always the voice of reason, Toni cuts in. “We need to think about recruiting in Riverdale again. Or maybe we call in some favors in Greendale.”

“I’m not sure it’s smart to be causing fear when we don’t even know the extent of what we’re dealing with. We ask for help and then what happens? They’re left defenseless for Penny to sneak in and get a practice run in. We can’t risk that. And we’re not getting new people because the City’s still has closed borders except for the very occasional shipment we get in.” He cursed, running a hand through his hair. “What do you think, Betts?”

It felt good, that her opinion mattered to him. It wasn’t in the same way that Cheryl or Toni’s did, but that was okay, they had been at this a lot longer than she had and they knew the ins and outs of Serpent politics perhaps better than she would ever dare dream to. She didn’t know much about Greendale, aside from it being a township not very far away, but if they had people they could spare maybe it wasn’t a terrible idea to ask.

“We can reach out? Just to see. No pressure just get a feel for if they’ve seen anything strange on their end, you know?” She offers.

Cheryl snorts, not bothering to hide her wicked grin. “Oh sweet, naive cousin, they always see something weird in Greendale. You’ll need to be more specific than that.”

Before she can retort, there’s a low rumble not far away, a strange sound that’s too loud to be even a horde of Diseased headed they’re way. This isn’t the half fumbled grunts of jaws that can’t coherently form words but instead a low chatter of fear. The four of them move quickly to get a height advantage of the situation. Jughead helps her up the ladder so they can see what’s there before them.

It can only be described as an exodus. There’s nearly a hundred people walking towards them, huddled together and watching with caution. At the head of the group is a young blonde girl in a green leather jacket. There’s blood caked in her hair, at least Betty thinks there might be, and she seems exhausted, perhaps more so than the rest of them. She’s flanked on either side by older women who have similar enough features that they might be a family.

“Holy mother of Witches,” Cheryl whispers, eyes wide as she stares at the crowd amassing at their gate.

The girl speaking stops them all with a wave of her hand and looks towards the group. “Long time no see, Jonesy. Wanna pop open this gate and let me in?”

Before Betty has time to process what is happening, Jughead is sliding down the ladder, and opening up the iron. He pulls the girl into a tight hug. She’s too high up to hear what they’re saying but something nips at her stomach in the most uncomfortable way. 

“Who are they?” she finally manages to say.

“That?” Toni snorts, smiling, “That’s Sabrina Spellman, and she’s a real fucking witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is slowly weaving together here and there's exciting things happening soon. Sabrina's arrival marks the beginning of the end. (But maybe not the end, end, since I may or may not have tossed the idea of a sequel around with my beta, so you never know!)
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 7: The Greendale Witches


	7. The Greendale Witches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy season two of CAOS! Full disclosure to everyone, Sabrina in this is not going to be like CAOS Sabrina. I have watched two episodes of CAOS and I....did not like it. Something about it gave me vibes that made me uncomfortable. But to each their own! If you like it I'm happy that it's season 2 for you! But i wanted to make it clear that there might be some overlap, but don't expect her to be the same character or characterized the same was as CAOS Sabrina is! :)
> 
> This is a bit of a slow chapter, but we're slowly rolling into the climax so I hope you guys are in for the start of the wild ride. I appreciate EVERY SINGLE PERSON, no exceptions, that reads and reviews this fic. I can't begin to put into words how wonderful it is to receive a comment on this, and how much it warms my heart because this fic is seriously my FAVORITE thing I have ever written. Every time I think I'm done expanding the world I'm not.
> 
> Okay okay, no more rambling. Thank you all <3 But ESPECIALLY right now thank you to @miss-eee who deserves a fucking pizza of her choice for beta-ing my fic despite all the shenanigans she's got going on. So like, if you feel like it, go send her some love? Read one of her fics? Send her an anon ask telling her how freaking much of a rockstar she is! kisses, kisses, kisses to you all.

Betty watches as Sabrina sits cuddled up in one of the old decrypt booths of the Whyte Wyrm, wearing Jughead’s serpent jacket loosely around her shoulders. There are other refugees milled around them in various states of distress. They’re dirty, sick looking, with gaunt faces and hollow eyes, and barely any of them are willing to speak, traumatized by whatever horrors the few survivors of Greendale managed to escape from as the town burned around them. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Veronica handing out jars to a group of people and she leans down to whisper whatever words of comfort she can manage to draw from within her own heart. 

Apparently, it had been Zelda who struck the match and set their world ablaze. In a moment of quick thinking, the decision was to burn the whole thing to the ground in hopes of stopping the horde in their tracks for long enough. It was risky, perhaps a bit reckless, and Betty can tell by the looks on some people’s faces that the echoing screams of misery are not going to stop reverberating anytime soon.

There are, surprisingly, a couple of children sprinkled into the mix. Perhaps not every township is as rigidly structured as Riverdale, as dedicated to the type of life where one lives distinctly under the radar until they fade into nothingness. She can see Veronica is gentle with some of them and Archie is there too, with a small bundle of wooden toys that he and Fred practiced carving. They both seem delighted to see other children though it’s no secret that everyone wishes the circumstances were better than this.

Not everyone in the room is wearing leather but she can pinpoint the gang members in the room without much of an issue. Each of the Witches possesses a sort of ostentatious flair. Even caked in dirt and blood, Sabrina is pretty, with a smile that promises its own unique sort of chaos. Their leathers are just as faded as the Serpents, but with more fanfare and decor tacked on beside the embroidered witch patches.

Sabrina’s jacket is nicer than the others, aside from her two aunts who have mysteriously disappeared while Serpents dodged through the newcomers and offered them quickly boiled broth to settle their stomachs. It’s a petty thing to be upset about, but Betty cannot fathom why Sabrina still has Jughead’s set over her shoulders. It’s an extra layer of protection from something, maybe to help her quit shaking, maybe to keep the judgemental eyes away from her for as long as possible. There are already whisperings of mistrust to the new arrivals despite how thoroughly Jughead has had them all checked for bite wounds. A sick part of Betty’s stomach twists up. She tries to ignore it as best she can as she scoops some more of the foggy yellow liquid into a plastic cup to be passed around, but when Sabrina leans up and touches her hand to Jughead’s a monster appears in her heart that might be deadlier than the Diseased clamoring around outside of Greendale. It leaves her with an unpredictable unease that makes her bite the inside of her cheek so hard she draws blood.

Everything with Jughead is so complex that the arrival of an unknown entity terrifies her. It is obvious Sabrina and Jughead are close. How close though is not something Betty knows, because there is so much of him that is shrouded in mystery to her despite their increasing closeness. In a land where the law is survival and social implications are complex and interpretive at best, where she lacks a definition for the one thing she craves most of all, it’s easy to let her heart be caught up in pounding waves of jealousy. There had been a breakthrough amidst the snow and she worries whatever the Witches bring will tumble them backwards until he is pulling away from her slightest touch again.

She cautiously sets the spoon aside, looking towards Toni for confirmation that she can leave for a few minutes. All she gets is a nod, but it’s enough, and Betty makes her way through the huddled mass of quiet sobs and moans to where Sabrina and Jughead are sitting. She reaches out with bated breath, expecting rejection when she places her hand on the lapels of his jacket. Instead, she watches him relax, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips in a quick kiss. Her whole body ignites with warmth and despite the disparaging circumstances she’s smiling.

“Thank you for helping,” he says softly, pulling her close so that their warmth radiates together. “We’re going to need to find places for everyone to stay soon. They can stay in the Wyrm for observation tonight, to make sure no one shows signs of turning, including you, Sabrina. No hard feelings.”

Sabrina shakes her head and offers him that smile. It sends a chill up Betty’s spine and she can tell something dangerous lurks beneath the surface of her short blonde bob and her bandana. “None at all. Strictly business, right? Can’t go letting loose a hundred Diseased into quaint little Riverdale.”

“I doubt any of you are actually infected. The Aunts never would have let you come here if you were, but it’ll keep the Serpents and the rest of the town sleeping easier tonight knowing that we’re watching to make sure of it. I’ll have a handful of my guys scattered around the place. It’ll stretch us a little thin, but it’s something we’ll have to do for tonight. I was thinking of staying watch here, Betts. You can go back home if you want, or with Veronica and Archie when they go, or you can stay.”

“I was already on patrol with you tonight, so I’ll stick around. Maybe I’ll go out and relieve Toni and Cheryl from their double later if one of them gets too tired though.”

Betty watches as Sabrina regards her wearily, looking her up and down, eyes narrowed almost as if she’s witnessing a mirage and not a real human being. She snorts once and turns back to her broth. It’s a subtle act, almost careless, and Betty can feel the anger stir in her stomach. This woman doesn’t trust her. It’s fair, by all accounts, since this is their first meeting ever and if she hasn’t heard about Sabrina, she doubts Sabrina has heard of her, but it still stings. She has spent such a long time clawing her way to a modicum of respect from the Serpents that this witch waltzing in and immediately looking down on her is a biting afront.

The two women stare at each other and Betty knows this is a challenge the second their eyes lock. Jughead is preoccupied, looking around the room to make sure that everything is how it should be and there’s no one convulsing in the way infected people do before they start vomiting blood and attacking their friends. Betty squares her shoulders and refuses to back down. The tension is so palpable it nearly makes her sick. It doesn’t fade away even after Sabrina nods and bows her head. The look on her face promises that this is not the last bit of friction they’re bound to experience.

Jughead clicks his tongue and frowns, looking around the room one more time. “Sabrina, where’s Harvey? I don’t see him anywhere?”

It’s subtle, the collapse of the woman’s painted on veneer of ease and dominance. Her eyebrows fall and her right eye twitches as her body retreats slightly into the overwhelming amount of leather draped around her. Her voice is cold as she speaks, deliberate, calculated. “Gone. Dead. The big idiot forgot I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and he… he didn’t think before he acted. A common Harvey problem if you remember correctly.”

“I haven’t seen you both in a few years but that does sound like him. We can have a pyre if you want, to burn him. I know there’s nothing to burn but it could at least be symbolic.” Jughead rests his hand gently on hers and gives it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “I’m sorry. I know it’s never easy.”

“I noticed the torched remains outside of the Wyrm. You’ve already had to burn someone recently and there’s no use wasting the wood when there’s no body to cremate. I appreciate it though, the offer. I’m sure Harvey does too, but you know as well as I do that this is just a natural part of living out here in City Outskirts. You think your trade is bad? Ours is nonexistent.”

Jughead nods. “I understand. Ever since the City went in lockdown things have been harder out here. But we’re making due.” He looks between the two blond girls and suddenly realization dawns on him. He coughs, sheepish and gestures between them. “Sorry. I had so much on my mind with everything happening. Sabrina, this is Betty Cooper. She is one of the few City refugees that made it here before the quarantine. She’s been with us for a while now as a Serpent initiate.”

It feels strange to have the words put together so formally, but Betty supposes that is what she is, or at least what she is that carries the most importance around a woman like Sabrina. He calls her a refugee and does not mention the hostility she encountered upon arrival nor the near hour it took to convince him to allow her to stay. She doubts Jughead stumbling through a lazy definition as to what the two of them are would annoy her more than anything. She is here to protect the town just the same as everyone else, and it loosens her of the burdens of a simple citizen.

“She also,” he continues with a sense of pride that makes Betty’s heart blossom, “helped a few people learn to quilt blankets for the winter and is Veronica’s favorite canning companion. She trained with Sweet Pea for a while before, well, I’ll explain that later. It’s not a story that needs to be told right now, but it involves the Ghoulies so—”

“It’s information I should have, given they burned down my entire town on some sick and twisted mission. I didn’t see Penny there, by the way, which means she was walking around the forest probably watching her wet dream fantasy come to life. Fucking bitch.” That delightfully wicked grin is back on her features as she leans forward, “Betty Cooper? Wouldn’t happen to be any relation to Alice Cooper, the City Councilwoman, would you? Someone in part responsible for whatever the hell is happening right now.”

Betty stiffens. This is judgment she is used to. The people here have come to accept or ignore that aspect of her life, no doubt due to Cheryl and Jughead’s constant quietting of descent, but with the arrival of Greendale’s refugees comes one hundred more people she has to convince to forgive the sins of her mother. There are so many complicated aspects to City politics that these people simply do not understand. The kind of information they expect her to be privy to would never have dared pass Alice Cooper’s steal trap lips. She does not know how or why there is a mutation in the virus that caused the Disease, simply that it has likely been caused by the experiments conducted within her home’s borders.

“She’s my mother, yes, not that it’s important right now. I’m me and she’s her. Whatever she got herself involved in doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m no more aware of whatever private labs and secret tests were going on than you are. So I’ll ask that you don’t lump me in with whatever issues you think you have with the City and the Council.”

“You’ve got balls, I like that. Alright, well then, since you’ve given me access to your somewhat tragic backstory, it’s only fitting I tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Sabrina Spellman, leader of the Greendale Witches.”

It takes a few minutes to get Betty up to speed on exactly who the Greendale Witches are. As it turns out, Sabrina is the Greendale counterpart to Jughead, leader of a gang turned militia that keeps the township safe from various baddies that go bump in the night. Neither of them explain exactly what kind of gang the Witches were before society made its grand collapse, but Sabrina explains it was once lead by her aunts Hilda and Zelda, who stepped down a few years back to give their niece a chance to show her strengths.

Greendale was a bit of an enigma to Betty. While she had at least overheard stories of Riverdale from her mother and a few other Cityfolks who had briefly visited townships on trade missions or casual sightseeing (though no the very thought of that makes her sick, almost like the rich and privileged thought it was a game to get on the bus and see how the other half survived without all their luxuries) she had only read about Greendale once or twice during lessons regarding the geography of the region. It was nothing more little red dot on a map that hung in the library, the words  _ The City and Townships _ scrawled into the plague below. Of course she remembers that when she first came to town, Jughead had mentioned sending her off to Greendale, something she is infinitely grateful did not happen now, but wonders if he remembers at all. 

Betty can tell just by looking at the people that that the Witches brought with them have a different culture to than the residence of Riverdale. There are similarities with the way people huddle up and the men and women in leather tend to hover near the edges and keep their gaze vigilant. There’s the same sort of dress and a lot of the knit clothing looks like what she has seen Ethel make. But two towns living in near isolation of each other and the rest of the world were likely to develop as their own as well.

She was excited though at the prospect of the handful of little hands and feet she saw cuddled close to family. Wyatt would have other children to play with and her hopes of being able to teach again were somewhat resurrected, at least for the time being. That was, of course, assuming that Jughead and the Serpents would let the Greendale refugees stay. They had been resistant to her arrival, claiming food supply strain among other things, and she had been only one. This was a rather large number to add to their ranks and they could barely fit all of them cramped into the Wyrm. Archie had complained the other day about having to maintain some of the empty homes and now there would be bodies to fill them, but what about food. Water. Resources. These were all things Jughead would have to consider before allowing them to stay, not to mention the backlash that might occur no matter his decision. For not the first time today, Betty was reminded of the difficult burden that would always rest on his shoulders.

“Where are Hilda and Zelda? Or have they disappeared again?”

Sabrina shrugs and tosses Jughead his jacket back. She sits up a little straighter and even though she’s shorter than even Betty is, there’s a fiery intimidation that radiates off of her much the same as it does with Veronica. This is a woman who most people know better than to cross.

“They’re off looking for stragglers. You know the Aunts, they’ll do whatever they want when they want.”

Betty feels her throat tighten as the memories of all the dead loved ones she has start to resurface as a slow uncomfortable itch. “Are they going to be okay out there?” She hasn’t met the Aunts but Jughead only ever sends missions in twos of the situation is dire.

“Please,” Sabrina snorts, “They can handle themselves better than anyone else I know. I’d feel bad for anyone they stumble across that doesn’t immediately move out of the way.”

“Don’t question it,” Jughead says with a laugh, shaking his head. “They’re an interesting duo. I think they’re both infinite and finite. They’ve been the same age as long as I’ve ever known them. If I believed in magic, I might think they were actually witches.”

“The dead have risen and this guy has the audacity to say he doesn’t believe in magic. How have you been alive all these years without me, Jughead?”

“I’ve survived plenty without you meddling in it and I’ve been doing just fine without my dad hanging around too. I’m perfectly capable of making sure Riverdale doesn’t run itself into the ground. Which reminds me, your place here is undecided. Not just yours, but everyone from Greendale. Friends or not this is serious and I have to figure out if we’ll even be able to sustain such a rapid population expansion with the supplies we have.”

Sabrina’s brow furrows and she huffs. “Bullshit. You’ll have more workers to help out. And we can’t exactly go back home once we make sure everyone’s okay. There is no home. And we can’t go to the City, either? There is nowhere for us to go and besides, you owe me and the Greendale witches a hell of a lot with the amount of times we’ve saved your skin.”

Betty can tell Jughead is getting frustrated. His hand comes up and pushes through the front curls of his forehead and when he yanks on them once she knows Sabrina has pushed buttons that make him uncomfortable. He is obviously upset. Yet, she doesn’t move, she doesn’t bat an eye, she simply levels him with the same gaze she gave Betty and crosses her arms.

“What if we table this conversation until later. Right now, the biggest threat and the thing of  most importance is figuring out what’s happening with the Ghoulies and the Diseased.” Betty cuts in, hopeful that she can alleviate some of the tension in the air. She doesn’t trust Sabrina as far as she can throw her — which, truthfully, she isn’t sure how far that would be, the woman looks small but hardy — but if they have an army of enraged and crazed scavengers and monsters, than they can’t afford to be arming like this. “First we need to figure out if what Sabrina saw and what you saw on your mission with Cheryl are the same creatures. We should rule out the possibility that there isn’t more than one adaptation happening. If there is, we’re in for a world of hell, more so than already. But if there’s only one and we pool our knowledge we’ll be better prepared for a worst-case scenario option, so when the Ghoulies inevitably come after us, we aren’t caught unsuspecting like Greendale. Um, no offense. I’m sure you guys are good at what you do.”

“We are,” Sabrina looks her up and down, tension in her shoulders obvious. “But you’re right. We can put this argument on the back burner. No one’s going anywhere until we figure out what the hell is happening. It’s not really a surprise the Ghoulies would use Greendale as a test run. We don’t have the kind of defenses you do and we’re the only other township in the area after what happened to Seaside a few years back.”

A sickness overcomes Betty and she knows by the somberness in Sabrina’s voice that she does not want to know what happened to Seaside. It’s another dot on the map that she knows nothing about, other than it’s historical importance for maritime trade, and now she doubts she ever will. Growing up, it wasn’t uncommon to hear whispers of a township collapse. Sometimes they would report it on the morning radio news but for the most part, they tried to keep the airwaves chipper and optimistic so the busy worker bees kept pretending they were safe in paradise.

More often than not her teachers used collapsed townships as a cautionary tale as to why they should never leave the comfort of the City walls. Here they were comfortable and safe, living lives close to what it was like before the First Outbreak ruined the world and traditional society ceased to exist. The remnants of it all still linger, but there is no President with any power to wage wars, or group of old white men to determine tax regulations. She doesn’t even know what a tax is really. Even in the City, most of everyone’s income was either government supplemented based on occupation or done via trade between neighbors who just so happened to have leftovers of whatever the other person wanted.

Jughead is gentle again, something like easy familiarity fills his tone, and Betty recognizes it as the same sort of gentle coddling Chic used to give her when things seemed terrible. The same tone he used in the backseat of the car as they sped away from Riverdale for what they thought might be forever. “Greendale won’t be Seaside. After we figure things out we can send a team to access the damage and help you rebuild.” 

“I think it already is.” She says it with a finality that cuts the conversation off before it can even begin. When he gestures for her to stand and follow, she complies easily, her eyes drifting to where he takes Betty’s hand. Betty feels her cheeks heat up in ways that are not fitting towards the seriousness of the situation as giddy butterflies begin to dance in her stomach.

He is touching her now more than he has, perhaps ever, aside from inside the comforting confines of their little home. Theirs. She wonders when it transferred ownership, when she felt comfortable enough with this that finding herself cuddled up in the crook of his arm was the closest thing to nirvana she might ever get. She wonders when her whole world shifted.

“We need to go to the back of the Wyrm and have this conversation. We can use one of the old manager offices. I’ll have someone send for Cheryl. She was with me on the mission where we saw them and I’m sure she remembers it better than I do.”

“Shouldn’t FP be here? I know you’re de-facto leader when he’s gone but this feels like something that needs his input.”

Jughead sighs and his words are laced with bitterness. “FP isn’t around much anymore. He’s either stumbling around drunk on moonshine or off in the wilderness. I’m not sure how the old man lives out there but that’s his business. For all intents and purposes, I’m the leader of the Serpents now. Everyone here respects that and you should too.”

“Whoa there. I wasn’t trying to offend, simply just asking a question. No need to try and bite my head off, Jug. But I can tell it’s a sensitive subject. You won’t bring up Harvey and I won’t bring up your dad. Deal?”

He looks her up and down wearily, before giving a quick, curt nod. “Deal. Now come on.”

One of the other Serpents is sent to fetch Cheryl and take her shift on patrol around the wall. The office of the Whyte Wyrm is uncomfortably cramped. Most of the furniture is either so old it’s rotted or hardly in condition to sit on. Jughead leans against the wooden desk tucked in the back corner and Betty leans beside him. Sabrina choses the only couch in the room that isn’t covered in holes as silence settles into the space uncomfortable.

Betty fiddles, full of nerves, until she decides to strike a match and light one of the candles that’s tucked into a desk drawer. The wax is nearly completely melted but there should be enough to buy them a few hours of light. It’s dangerous to be moving around too much when the Diseased are out and the threat that any one of them might be super powered looms over head. The soft yellow glow bathes the room in flickering warmth.

She looks around the room. It’s cluttered, with things knocked over and out of place. There are spider webs hanging from the ceiling and if she closes her eyes she can hear the scratch of something in the walls that unsettles her. 

It’s not long before Cheryl comes through the doors, looking as irritated as one can be after being reprieved from their second shift at a post. She enters the room by throwing the doors open and studying each of them. Her gaze falls on Sabrina, her perfect eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

“Who’s the discount Betty?”

Jughead tries to cover his laugh with a cough but it isn’t hidden too well judging from the way that Sabrina shoots him a scathing glare. “That’s Sabrina. Leader of the Witches, Cheryl, so play nice. I’m sure you’ve heard by now what happened. She saw the same Diseased we did when we went out on recon to the Ghoulie camp. We wanted you to come in here so we could pool thoughts and try to figure out what it is we want to do.”

“I suppose that’s fair. Alright then. Greendale goblin, explain what you saw.”

“Before I do that, how about someone explains to me why a Serpent initiate is here. No offense, Betty, you seem smarter than people give you credit for, but usually those type of people aren’t the ones who end up in the locked rooms for private talks. It would make more sense if Toni was here.”

Jughead opens his mouth to explain but whatever he thinks of dies on his tongue. “It’s complicated,” Betty supplies, looking his way. That’s the best way to describe anything here in Riverdale, she’s learned. Nothing is without complication, so everything is complicated.

Cheryl rolls her eyes. “They’re fucking regularly and enjoying each other’s company. You aren’t the only adults who seek comfort in others in the post apocalyptic wasteland of Riverdale, so don’t be coy or special. Veronica and Archie have a child. It didn’t miraculously appear in a basket outside their doorstep, did it?”

If Sabrina is bothered by Cheryl’s uncouth she doesn’t show it. Instead, she nods once and before Jughead and Betty can feel properly embarrassed by the airing of their dirty laundry, she begins to describe what she saw in between the flashes of bright red flame and the crumbling of her home. It’s the same sort of horrific imagery that Jughead described to Betty that night. Gnashing teeth, ugly angry, frustration, but most of all, the hunger and intelligence that laid beneath their gaze.

They were intelligent, quick on their feet, like laser focused hunters.  _ Predators _ . That’s the best word to describe them. They hunt like lions and humans are their gazelle. They dodged through the flames, unperturbed until their bodies ignited. Some of them were smart enough to chase of it. There was a lingering of humanity she saw within them that Betty can tell Jughead and Cheryl both saw. It feels sick.

“It’s a mutation,” Betty says softly, the candlelight flickering to paint strange shapes on the walls. “It has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense. But the question is how or why is Penny trying to domesticate them like pets?”

“She’s not domesticating them, cousin, she’s training them into vicious attack dogs. Better yet, attack wolves. And how do you train a wolf? Same as a dog. With food and promise of more of it.” Cheryl says. Betty can see her seething underneath, the threat of her livelihood putting her on edge.

“And the why is easy too. Greendale first, to test things out to make sure she can trash and burn everything in her wake. She’s smart, clever. She knew it would be stupid to risk going for Riverdale immediately. We were an easier target,” Sabrina explains, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Of course we were. A few weeks ago I caught Ghoulies skimming our borders and I didn’t think anything of it. They do that sometimes, just to piss us all off, but I didn’t realize that they’d be coming back with an armada for Diseased at their side. It was stupid. I should have been better prepared but now you will be. And you have the Greendale Witches at your side to do it. You know we’re good in a fight. Think of it as payment for letting us stay as long as you do.”

Betty can tell Sabrina is teases the idea of revenge in Jughead’s heart. Cheryl, along with  some of the other Serpents, has already said she’s out for blood, but Jughead has tried on more than one occasion to keep them at ease. The Ghoulies have always been a constant pain in their side, only aggravated when Penny decided to join their ranks. It’s been worse lately and with Sweet Pea’s death there is a glamoring for heads on pikes. If the rest of them were to find out about the mutated Disease it would spell chaos surely.

Jughead will have to weaponize that anger and to do so he’ll have to side step and word himself carefully when he finally announces the threat. There’s an unknown time limit ticking above them. At any moment the Ghoulies could strike.

“How much time do you think we have to prepare?” They’re the first words out of his mouth since the explanation began.

“Two weeks,” Cheryl says easily and with confidence that makes it hard to deny her. “With the damage the Greendale Goblins--”

“Witches,” Sabrina corrects, “Or I’ll start calling you the Southside Geekos.”

“Fine, Greendale Witches with tacky jackets. Regardless, all the damage that was done to there, and the fire, probably confused them. They maybe the Diseased leashed but in the midst of chaos they likely lost one or two. They’ll spend some time trying to find them. I doubt they think anyone from Greendale survived and if they did they likely are lost in the forest, not hiding out here. They’ll need to regroup and reassess to see how they’ll stage the attack here.”

Jugheads nods and gently taps his thighs. It’s a nervous twitch Betty’s noticed he has and she cautiously takes his hand in hers, watching as he relaxes, giving her a grateful quick squeeze. “We’ll use that to our advantage. That means we’ll try to hide the number of Witches we have. We’ll show off a few stragglers for the scouts she probably got watching us, enough to make it seem like we aren’t hiding something, but they won’t know just how many we have. I don’t even know how many we have. Most of them out there look like civilians.”

“Twenty,” Sabrina says quickly. “Twenty witches out of one hundred and twenty. Most of them made sure the civilians got out first. That is our job, after all. We’re lucky to have as many as we do, but the Serpents can use whatever numbers they’ve got. I’ve noticed you’re down.”

“People aren’t happy about FP prancing off to wherever it is that DILFs hang out in the wilderness. They think it’s irresponsible and most of them barely trust Jughead to not run off like that. Toni and I have been keeping an ear out for dissent, especially after what happened with Sweet Pea. Good news is, many of those on the fence as well as the newer recruits think you might as well be the second coming, and your respect for Serpentine traditions did you well too. If your father had at least shown his face at the funeral we likely wouldn’t be having to deal with anyone whispering. I suspect when the cat gets out of the bag about the mega Diseased we’ll either have everyone clamoring to join forces, or some outrage at you. I suggest we have a plan before we let anyone know.”

Jughead takes in Cheryl’s words carefully. “I agree. For now, I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. Tonight we need to make sure we don’t have anyone from Greendale changing on us. Tomorrow we’ll have a better idea of everything and we can have a meeting of trusted Serpents. Do you think Hilda and Zelda will show up?”

“Who knows? They’ll certainly know what we’re talking about even if we don’t tell them. That’s just their magic. What are the chances you let me come and crash at your place instead of inside the Quarantine?”

“Sabrina….if I break the rules for you I’ll have to make acceptions for anyone with family here.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t, Jughead. And no one else in this room will.”

Betty feels the need to disagree, to tell Sabrina that she is not welcome within their home, regardless of whatever the hell relationship she has with Jughead. Maybe because of that even. But there’s a large part of here that is still a good person and this woman in front of her has lost an unspeakable amount in the last twenty four hours of her life. Instead, she smiles and turns to Jughead.

“We have enough room. Just for tonight, before we find a place for everyone else. It’s getting warmer so we can probably move our bed upstairs again, right?”

He contemplates for a few more seconds before his shoulders slump and he relents. “Fine. She can come with us. But we’re telling people it’s so we can spend the night figuring out what we’re going to do. We’re supposed to stay on guard tonight anyway.”

“Please,” Cheryl rolls her eyes and shoos them off. “You look like you might collapse at any moment. You’ll be busy for weeks to come in preparation for our own personal nightmare. I won’t tell anyone about you taking a little cat nap with my cousin. I warn you, little witch, that I’ve heard they’re loud.”

_ Bullshit! _ Betty wants to say, and then ask how in the hell anyone would know that. But she can’t rise to Cheryl’s taunts no matter how badly she wants to. Growing up, it was her greatest joy to see how riled up she could get Betty. Apparently, time changes nothing.

“Alright. Lead the way, Jones.” Sabrina says with that haunting smile. She’s fixated on Betty as she speaks. “I can’t wait to get to know your new friend.”

“Play nice, Sabrina. I’m going to go with Cheryl to check on everyone and assign duties until the morning. Think you can survive in here?” Jughead turns to Betty and asks.

She grins as bright as she can, trying to radiate the same warmth the sun always brings to help ease some of his nightly worries. “Of course. Go on and do what you have to. I’ll hold down the fort up here until it’s time to go.”

When the door closes shut and all that’s left is the eery flicker of a fading candle and the small slivers of moonlight that filter through the gaps in the boarded up window, Betty can feel Sabrina’s eyes on her. She tries to stand tall, to be unafraid, but something lingers in the back of her mind. There are a few throwing knives strapped to her person so in the unlikely scenario that she tries to attack, Betty will at least get a few good hits off, if not survive. This is someone she does not trust and suddenly she is acutely aware of how everyone must have perceived her on arrival.

“You know, Jughead and I took up our jackets at the same time.” The voice surprises her. It’s softer than Betty would have expected, not as bitingly harsh as it had been during their conversations about the Ghoulies’ impending raid. “Our families are close. Apparently we’re distant cousins, once removed, or something. Not that the word cousin really means anything anymore. Certain words just don’t out here, words that probably mean a whole lot to you. Cousin. Comfort. Safety. Husband. Wife. We read about them but they don’t carry weight out here.

“When we took up the mantle, we became blood brothers. We cut our palms and I read this old poem I found scrawled in the back of a book my aunts said used to belong to my dad. I thought it was magic. Maybe it was. We don’t talk often, really ever anymore, given that the Jughead likes to run a tight ship. But he always used to send extra shipments to Greendale. Sometimes he’d run them himself but with FP gone, I understand why he doesn’t anymore.

“It sounds kind of stupid, right? For two thirteen year olds to bleed a little and call each other family forever. But that sort of thing, it’s vital here. Everything else is up for debate. You don’t get many allies so you cling to the ones you have. When the head of Seaside snapped and went off the deep end, attacking us every few months and trying to stage raids, we would help each other out. Not because it was beneficial to either of us, but because had that bond. That connection.” She’s seriously suddenly, as she levels Betty with her gaze. “I would do anything to protect him. We’re not friends, we’re a lot more than that. He promised me the same, which is why I know that as much as he’s bitching and moaning about it, everyone in Greendale that wants a place here will get one. So when I ask you now, what the hell you think you’re doing with him, try not to take it to heart. The speech he gave Harvey was a lot worse.”

It’s a lot of information quickly but it helps explain some of the gaps in information. Betty still wonders why it is Jughead has never mentioned Sabrina, or the Greendale Witches for that matter, if their gangs are so intimately intertwined, but then again she supposes there is a lot about her life back in the City that he is not privy to. Perhaps things she should never be privy to. Secrets are bred of necessity and should not always be looked upon so poorly when drawn into the light of day.

Betty doesn’t answer, not yet. Instead she takes a good look at Sabrina, barely visible in the neglected glow of the candle. There isn’t enough wax left and there’s something almost chilling about how this petite little blonde looks. Beneath it all, she can see fear though, rumbling quietly beneath the surface. The same lines she’s traced on Jughead’s skin -worry and fear and pain - are etched into Sabrina’s. Young adults with the weight of the world rested so heavily on their shoulders. It all hardly seems fair. Then again, nothing is anymore. And nothing will be ever again.

“Who was Harvey?”

It seems a strange question, innocuous at best, but Sabrina regards her cautiously before she answers. “My husband, or the closest thing you can get to one. We got married in the sense that we agreed to get with each other forever, in front of a few people, and then tried to make a home. We were talking about kids. I know that’s not something you see here in Riverdale, but we tried to encourage it in Greendale. My Aunts were especially into that, even mixing up herbs to help fertility for some people. They’re right about it. Society is never going to thrive again if we’re living in fear of making other humans just because they can turn into monsters. But Riverdale doesn’t really like to listen to new ideas. I’m surprised Veronica and Archie weren’t lynched. They’re lucky they have him. But who knows, maybe with a few more Greendale kids running around people might be forced to change their minds.”

The concept of marriage outside of the City has been few and far between. And even there, weddings were not lavish or important, simply just matters to be dealt with to make the process of earning government support easier. There’s an air of romance that lingers to unions out in the Townships. Even in the midst of death and destruction two people can come together beautifully for no other reason than simply wanting to. There is no idea how long they will have one another, but that worry isn’t dwelled upon for too long, or if it is they handle it far better than she has. It feels like most moments are consumed with her worry about what everything Jughead means in the grand scheme of the universe. Maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything more than happiness.

“I’m sorry you lost him,” and Betty knows it’s the truth when she says it. There have been so many people she’s lost recently, and people that she’s not sure she’ll ever know the fate of. Chic and her mother may live as a mystery until the day she dies. “It’s never easy.”

“It isn’t. But you know that. I can tell. I’m sorry if I seemed overly harsh or judgemental of you at all. I think it comes with the territory of being in charge of such a big group of people. We don’t, or didn’t maybe is the better word, have the same structure Riverdale does. There was no mayor. It’s just the Spellmans, keeping Greendale safe from whatever spookiness is living within or outside of it. Harvey was a good person. My other half. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to be with anyone again after him.”

“You’re that sure of it?”

“Well you’re never really sure of anything out here, but I’m as sure as I can be. So, I have to ask because I’ve always been curious, is Jughead actually good in the bedroom or does he just whine and cry?” Betty flushes a brilliant shade of red and flounders for an answer, something that seems to delight Sabrina to no end. “I’m teasing! God I don’t actually want to know. That’s horrible information about someone I call my blood brother. For what it’s worth, you seem to make each other really happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him seem less pissed off during a situation that should probably piss him off more. You help keep him calm, which is almost infuriating since I wanted him riled up in hopes of talking him into an ambush, but maybe it’s better if we actually plan it out and all take a few days to get calm heads.”

Sitting up a little straighter against the desk, Betty smiles. Sabrina is more fun than she had initially thought, and not half as terrifying. “Did you really have children running around Greendale? I mean you must have, since I saw some. That’s something I’ve missed living in Riverdale. I used to be a teacher back in the City so my life was filled with little laughter and running feet, but things with Wyatt are so difficult here. It’s like Veronica and Archie live in fear of the Diseased and their every misstep being judged all because they found their happiness.”

“People hate change and they hate things that terrify them. Kids are an unknown factor in a lot of cases. But I’d argue that a kid is more predictable in a life or death situation than an adult. I can protect a kid. They’ll listen to me if I tell them to move. Adults panic and either run or try to fight.”

Her words trigger something within Betty and she can so vividly remember the days after the Outbreak within the cities walls. Thinly veiled chaos swept through the City. Chic dawned his police uniform again as he rushed everyone trying to keep the peace. The morning radio shows tried to gloss over the issues, claiming a small influx in the sewer systems. She heard neighbors fight and people scream out in the streets in panic. And then there was her sister, so young and beautiful, crazed and willing to throw herself into the arms of her rotted husband just to feel his embrace forever.

“They certainly do. I hope things will be different in the future. That we can raise people to live less in fear than we do, but find strength and unity.”

“Strength and unity? You really are a Serpent initiate.” Sabrina teases, standing up to explore the broken bookshelf that hugs the back wall. Betty joins her, bringin the candle with her so they can browse the hardcover spines.

“Come on, you don’t mean to tell me the Witches don’t have any trite rules like that?”

“Oh, we do. Just none I am willing to share verbally for fear of my life.”

There is an easiness now, one that comes when two people share the same scars etched so deeply into their hearts. Sabrina is a formidable and terrifying woman, but Betty feels at ease with her presence as they laugh and pick up the books. There are a few that she takes in hopes of reading with Jughead later. 

Later is such a strange word and whenever she thinks of the future she feels her entire body lurch in discomfort. The future is so nebulous before them and planning one seems silly on the best of days, stupid on the worst. She remembers a conversation she had with Veronica when she first came to Riverdale. They were canning, because it seemed the only place Betty was allowed to set foot without judgement. Her world had been tumbled into turmoil she had never expected and every step she made was filled with unease. Things had seemed so clear before and now there was nothing but blank space stretched before her.

_ “How do you plan for the future when you don’t even know about tomorrow?” she had asked so silently that she almost hoped Veronica hadn’t heard her. _

_ She had, of course, because that woman had a two year old and could hear anything in a two mile radius before of it. She didn’t look up as she sliced the last bit of skin from an apple. “You take a deep breath and you leap. Easy as that.” _

It had not seemed easy then and now Betty felt more than a little conflicted. Was she ready to leap? And would Jughead be there beside her when she finally did?

“Get out of your own head,” Sabrina teased. “It’s a terrible place to be. You know, if you want to distract yourself tonight and have a little fun with Jughead, I promise I’ll close my ears.” When Betty blushed again she cackled. “Come on! You’re around the Serpents all the time. You have to be able to handle a crash joke or two.”

“Try a dozen. I’m just trying to hold my tongue to keep from saying something equally as embarrassing in retaliation.”

“Oh God, see now I wish you would.”

By the time Jughead returned, Betty and Sabrina had slipped into an easy sense of comradery. The book shelf was picked dry, bags stuffed with reads for the future. Not all of them looked like Betty’s type but she knew Jughead might enjoy a few of the dryer ones.

“You two ready to go?” he asks gently, eying them with suspicion.

“Absolutely,” Betty blows out the candle and takes his hand. “Lead the way?”

Sabrina rolls her eyes and lags behind them. It’s dangerous walking at night, even within the confines of the gate. Jughead’s home is near the edge which should bring with it an inherent sense of unease. If something goes wrong, they’re farther from town, but this is also the best place to keep a lookout in an area that does not often get visited. Instead, Betty feels nothing sort of delighted the second she enters this place. The peeling paint is comforting and the hastily covered mattress on the ground beside the fireplace reminds her of waking up in his arms. There simply is no safer place to be.

Despite a half hearted protest from Jughead, Sabrina says she is more than comfortable being upstairs, where she will not disturb their obviously comfortable lovers nest. Her word choice makes Jughead stutter for a moment too long and sends the petite blond into another fit of cackles all the way up the stairs. Betty can’t hear what they’re whispering about upstairs, but the teasing seems light. She gathers up a few of the quilts to make sure their guest is not freezing during the night. The chimney and fireplace will help heat up the house but she knows from experience it can get quiet cold upstairs without much of anything to keep you warm.

“I’m used to sleeping in poor weather conditions,” Sabrina says, trying to shift some of the blankets back into Betty’s arms. “Really. I don’t need all of these.”

“We have extras. Please. Take it,” she tries to explain, flashing her a patented Cooper smile. It never fails to charm even the toughest of hearts and before long Sabrina has more than enough blankets to never feel cold again. She might even sweat tonight and says as much as she sheds her leather and kicks off her boots.

As they leave, Sabrina sends Betty one more wink and does a shimmy so odd she’s laughing. Jughead asks her what the hell has gotten into both of them and how one little private conversation helped ease whatever tension the two had before.

“She’s really nice and she understands what it’s like to lose people you care about. I forget sometimes that we all do, that I’m not special, and she helped me remember that. Besides, she told me a few fun stories about when you two were younger and earning your first gang stripes.”

Jughead grimaces as slowly pulls on his warmer, winter sleep clothes. He’s never modest around her anymore, such a stark contrast from them taking turns in the bathroom just to avoid each other’s gaze when they were changing. Betty still can’t bring herself to strip in the dining room like he can but she figures the living room is their bedroom for the time being and it has as much privacy as they’re going to get with a guest in their house. His old t-shirt is warm and hangs off of her like a dress but she wonders if this is something he could find sexy.

Trying to ignore that feeling, Betty walks across the small space to the kitchen and fishes for a late night snack. She had forgotten to eat aside from with Wyatt and the low grumble in her stomach lets her know that she should before bed or it will spell a fitful slumber for her later on tonight. It only takes a minute of pondering if she needs the whole jar labeled  _ Maple Apples  _ in Veronica’s signature scrawl before she remembers how ravenous Jughead can be. She sneaks back into the living room with a fork for them to share the crisp apple treats with.

It’s then that she spots him sitting on the couch in a simple state of comfort despite the trials they have suffered today alone. He looks older than he did when they met, but she supposes she must as well. His socks are pulled up to cover the shins his too short pajama bottoms often expose to the harsher elements. There is already a fire crackling with a few longs and the heat radiating throughout the room is a comfort she will never tire of.

There are tattoos she’s traced until she’s memorized them on full display and a book they’ve read countless times sitting open in his lap. The spine is threatening to break on him and some of the pages have fallen out and been hastily stuffed back in their home. His black hair is a mess, his eyes tired, but when he sees her walk in with that little jar, he grins and moves the paperback aside.

“Are those for me?” he asks, cheeky as always.

It’s then that Betty knows without a doubt how ready she is to make that leap for him, into the vast unknown, into a world that terrifies her, because this is Jughead Jones, the man who cleaned her wounds and gave her a home when she had nothing to give. This is Jughead Jones, the leader of the Southside Serpents who would risk everything to keep the people of this town safe. It terrifies her, yes, but she admires him for that strength and resolve of character. There is no one she trusts more than him in the entire world.

Suddenly, she feels like she is suffocating. Now that the revelation has hit, it’s like she can’t breath without him, without his touch or his kiss or his laughter in the air. She needs to show him what she means and how she feels. She wants to pull him along to that edge so they can make the decision to fall together no matter where they land.

She almost drops the jar. It’s a good thing a larger part of her brain that is not currently consumed with white hot need is always acutely aware of the dangers of living in the world that they do. Too much loud noise can either distract them or call them towards you and while the shatter of a jar doesn’t necessarily cause either, she knows the blood on her feet would send them all running their way. And tonight above all other nights is not one she wants to be spending throwing knives at Diseased.

Instead, Betty decides to play. She takes the jar with her as she sits in his lap. This isn’t an unusual position for them anymore, though usually it starts with them curled up comfortably on the couch and it’s only though wiggling and gentle curses that she ends up in his lap as they both struggle to read their respective books through the subtle comfort of human contact.

There is something almost seductive about the way the jar pops open and he watches her with wide, glassy eyes as she plucks the apple up with her fingers and slots it between her lips. It’s dripping with maple syrup and the sticky sweetness dances delightfully on her tongue. She’ll have to praise Veronica for the new concoction later, but for now all she can think about is this moment with him.

Juice spills from her lips as she bites the slide in half and offers it to him. Without speaking, he opens his mouth and accepts it, pulling her fingers into his mouth to lick the rest of the juice off. She can feel her stomach clench in desire and her whole body thrum with excitement. But as much as she wants to jump in the way they did the last time, there are questions that will keep her up at night even if she is laying satiated with sex.

“What are we?” She asks quietly, setting the jar on the old wooden crate they use as an end table, letting her cleaned fingers dance through his hair. “I know it’s stupid, but I have to know.”

“We can be anything you want. Veronica and Archie and Cheryl and Toni, they’re married. Ethel and Ben were boyfriend and girlfriend. Kevin and Fangs say that they’re just friends. If you want a label we can stick one on.”

It’s disturbing imagery and it makes her nose wrinkle. Their relationship is not like one of Veronica’s jars, hastily slapped with paper and ink so people know where they got it from and the flavors they have tucked away for rainy days. There has more depth to it than that.

“I don’t care what we are as long as it’s something like that. I like you, so much. I know in the City it was easier, because I could go on dates and be dropped off in front of my house with lazy goodnight kisses.”

“I wish I could do that for you,” he says hastily, letting his hands rest at her hips. “But I can’t. I know that’s a hard change for you, but I’m willing to be something with you. I’m terrified. It scares the shit out of me because even admitting it out loud, I know that this means you’re another person I could lose. That night I knew we’d never be the same but I kept trying to pretend we would until I figured out it wasn’t working.”

Betty smiles and moves closer to him. The coach groans slightly under the pressure and she wonders how long it will take for Sabrina to figure out what exactly is happening a floor below her. “What changed?”

“I realized that no matter what I did, the potential of losing you was always going to exist. Ignoring those feelings or not wasn’t going to make it hurt any less if you did get hurt. And then Archie told me something sort of wise, which is not a sentence I ever thought I would say, but here we are. He told me in some ways, he thought that the Diseased rising and the Outbreak was a blessing, because he could love twice as hard as he would have been able to before. He said that when you have forever, it can get easy to be bogged down by what ifs and future problems, but when there’s no promise of any of that, it’s easier to take that step when it feels right. He told me that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t take anything people say about Wyatt to heart. When any day could be your last, there’s no reasons to not live it as truthfully as you can. His truth was Veronica and Wyatt, his family.”

She’s almost crying as he speaks and she can feel the way the words are strangled in her tight throat as she croaks out, “And what is your truth, Jughead Jones?”

“It’s you, Betty Cooper, I think maybe it always will be. It’s you and I think in every life I’ve ever lived it’s always been you.”

They meet in a kiss so searing it nearly burns her skin. As quickly as she dressed herself her clothes are off, discarded in an unceremonious heap on the floor beside their bed. He picks her up only after the couch makes a groan that nearly rattles the house and he sets her down on the mattress like she’s made of porcelain. The delicacy makes her feel cherished but every inch of her craves to be marked by him.

It starts slow, with kisses placed reverently on every inch of exposed flesh she has to offer, and he grins when he nips at her thigh and she shudders under his touch. This is not the first time they have been so intimate together and yet this moment feels as though they are to be bathed in flames, born again like a phoenix rising from the ashes. When his fingers find the place they’ve been seeking she nearly collapses. Her breath becomes ragged as he drags her soul right from her body and fills it with his own.

His mouth is on her, hands tangled roughly in his hair, canting her hips and chanting his name like it’s a prayer she’ll never forget to say. She can feel his smile against her when she gasps and tightens around his fingers a low whine ripping from her throat. He distracts her mouth with her fingers, which she licks clean without argument. They’re kissing again and even though she’s exhausted that heat has returned. He gave his soul to her and now it is only fair that she returns to favor and fills his empty vessel with all the love and adoration she feels for him. It burns so painfully in her chest that if she does not do something about it now she might begin to wither into nothingness.

“I want you,” he echoes against her skin as Betty rolls on top of him. “Please.”

It takes very little argument after that before she is sinking onto him. Everything burns so bright white that she can barely keep her thoughts straight, but this is everything she had hoped for. His hands do not leave her body as they rock together, words bouncing around the walls like an echo chamber. Neither of them know what the other says but it hardly matters as the air gets sticky with sweat and sex.

Jughead treats her with a reverence that is nearly frightening, touching her like every inch of her body is a treasure trove of beauty. He sucks a hickey into her neck that hurts when he pulls back, but the gentle pop and the ache she feels make her more frantic to chase their pleasure, her hips moving so quickly that the slap of skin on skin makes her feel heady and dizzy with delight. She can feel when he’s close by the way he clenches his jaw and the muscles in his stomach start to coil tight.

He looks into her eyes when they find their release together and it feels like a silent promise she doesn’t know the meaning of, but cherishes nonetheless. Everything is so suffocatingly real between them that she should be terrified. Instead, she’s just delighted, thrilled to have found this man amidst the chaos and agony. Together they bloom like a winter rose.

Collapsing, exhausted and sweaty from their coupling and the heat of the fire, Betty finds her solace in the steady beat of his heart. It counts in time with her own and she grins so widely it feels like her face might split in two. His hand traces shapes she can’t quiet make out in her back until the darkness threatens to blur her vision and allows sleep to consume her.

Tomorrow is terrifying and she knows now that it always will be. There are decisions that must be made, plans to enact, moments that are going to define the very future of Riverdale. But tonight, she is simply allowing herself to be in Jughead’s warm embrace. She can tell by the way he’s smiling down at her that, at least for now, he has chased away his own worries.

The last thing she sees before she falls to sleep is him, slightly scruffy and beautiful, caught in the single sliver of moonlight that their windows allow. He has never looked more handsome and she has never felt more at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what are we feeling about Sabrina? How do we think the Serpents are gonna take the news about the new Diseased type? How is Betty and Jughead's relationship progressing? And where the HELL IS FP??
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3 follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 8: The Reckoning


	8. The Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter and the next one I am going to emphasize the "graphic descriptions of violence" tag. There is one scene in particular in here that is relatively graphic when describing mutilation done to a person. Just to give you a warning.
> 
> Oh gee gang are you ready for this one? I admit I had struggles with this chapter, but as always the amazing @miss-eee is a hero who helped me stay confident in this writing. She is just an utterly outstanding person and I adore her.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this one! <3

One week after Sabrina and the Greendale Witches’ arrival into Riverdale, Jughead asked Mayor Lodge to hold a town hall meeting in the Market. It was mandatory for Serpents and citizens alike. Right there in the heart of Riverdale they were going to explain to everyone that imminent dangers that would soon be upon them — the Ghoulies, the new string of Diseased, and the plan to combat it. Hermione had been furious when Jughead marched into her office unannounced and explained to her what was happening. She scolded him for not notifying her immediately, that this was her town and he could not go around making calls like that anymore.

 

It was Kevin who spoke up, rolling his eyes and muttering, “With all due respect Madame Mayor, you and I are just figureheads. Everyone knows it’s the Serpents who are really in charge here. If they kept something from us, it was probably for a good reason. And not shitting ourselves in a panic about information we don’t really have is a pretty good reason to me.”

 

Surprised and grateful for Kevin’s interference, Jughead quickly set out to explain to Hermione the importance of this meeting, the plan he had quickly strung together with help from Sabrina and Cheryl, the only two who had encountered these creatures and knew enough about it to offer any form of insight. Betty had been with them, ironing out as many of the kinks as she could with the little strategic knowledge she had acquired during her time with the Serpents. She had killed a few Diseased at this point, but this would be her first time face to face with a Ghoulie. It was comforting to know she would not be the only one flying blind, however.

 

Their group spent those two days huddled up in the office of the Whyte Wyrm, trying to ignore curious questions from the other Serpents, focused on the task at hand. They had intended to plan for even longer, but Penny was not willing to give them the time. She had, however, given them a warning, a courtesy that had not been extended to the residents of Greendale.

 

Everyone was gathered out in the Market. Every Serpent, every resident of Riverdale, the remaining Witches, and their families were huddled together looking forward to the makeshift stage Archie had constructed so that there would be a point of focus. He was unaware of the purpose of it all, but when Jughead asked for something he was rarely one to deny it. Looking out at all those people, Betty was hit full force with the realization of just how vital this meeting would be to their survival. She had reworked Jughead and Sabrina’s speech to have the same sort of political spin her mother’s always did, something to keep people calm without all the lies of Council propaganda.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Sabrina asks Jughead for the fortieth time. She is not keen on the idea of how much he’s decided to reveal to the masses. When mixed with the horror stories from the Greendale survivors, she fears this news will cause nothing but mass hysteria. She’s not completely in the wrong, and it’s a worry that has been hovering on the edge of Betty’s peripheral since they agreed to tell the entire town instead of just a select group of Serpents. It’s a decision they can’t go back on now though. Everyone is has gathered already.

 

When she looks into the crowd, she sees Veronica and Archie near the front, a young couple beside them holding their daughter. Wyatt, for his part, had not been frightened by the sudden arrival of other children, but utterly enraptured. Veronica had caught him trying to sneak out to the refugee housing on more than one occasion just so he could show his new friends some of the toys his grandpa had painted for him. Fred was close to them, trapped in the chair she knew he had disdain for. Betty stared at where his leg had been and wondered how many more people would meet his same fate after the Ghoulie invasion.

 

“It’s the only option we have. At least if we warn everyone now, we can contain the inevitable hysteria that’s going to happen. It’s only a matter of time before the people from Greendale start talking about the Diseased they saw. You think they won’t start comparing notes and putting two and two together?”

 

Sabrina groans and stomps her foot, fiddling with the zipper on her jacket like a disgruntled child. Betty understands her frustration. Ever since the decision was made to inform the populations of the truth, she had been unable to stop fidgeting. Those familiar crescent marks in her hands had broken open again on more than one occasion, much to Jughead’s chagrin as he ripped apart rotted old clothes to bind up his lover’s hands again. Cautiously, she reaches out and threads Sabrina’s fingers through hers. It’s an action that is obviously startling to the leader of the Witches, but she relaxes and returns the gesture with a single squeeze before dropping her hands.

 

Cheryl and Toni are tucked to the side of the stage. Neither of them had been around much this morning, dealing with orders Jughead had given them in hushed whispers before the sun even cracked over the horizon. No one had been sleeping in the mad dash to prepare as quietly as possible before the big reveal today. Betty turns her head to look back at Jughead quickly flipping through the notes he had written as to come as prepared as possible for the impending disaster that would be this. All the lines she saw melt away last night during their lovemaking were back, deep set in his features, carved lines in his sun-kissed skin. Subconsciously she reaches up to trace along the corners of her eyes and wonders how much she had aged in her short time under the gun.

 

When she turns back, Cheryl and Toni are no longer alone, instead coming towards their small group with a pair of older blonde women by their side. Sabrina stiffens before launching herself forward into the waiting arms of the rounder of the duo. Based on the familiarity of the situation, the hug, Betty pieces together that these were the ever elusive Aunts.

 

“Thank God you’re okay,” Sabrina chokes out, trying to fight back the tears in her eyes.

 

Something in her heart twists, like an old rusted knife cutting open a wound that had never properly healed. She knows, deep down, that there will likely never be a reunion like this in her future. Given what Cheryl, Sabrina, and Jughead have told her of the new Diseased, it’s unlikely her mother or Chic will be alive to see her. Of course, she has dreams to keep her going. Most of them involve her mother sprinting off a bus after the Ghoulies and the Diseased had been dealt with, engulfing  her and Chic in a hug so tight they never let go, praising Betty on all she had accomplished on her own. _ On surviving _ .

 

“Of course we’re alright, dear, when aren’t we ever?” the thinner one says with a smile as she pressed a quick kiss to the crown of Sabrina’s head. “Just doing a little bit of snooping out in the forest. You know we have eyes and ears out there. And before you worry, Salem’s as right as ever. He’s been busy riding around with that dog near the perimeter.”

 

“I’m glad he is. Do you want me to go get--”

 

“Jughead Jones,” the first one says, stomping her foot, “Where on Earth do you think you’re going?”

 

Betty has been so enraptured by the family meeting she has forgotten to look back at Jughead. When she does, she sees him sneaking near the edge of the stage, trying to blend into the little shade it offered him. As he’s spotted, his shoulders slump forward, and he makes his way back towards the group looking as young as Betty has ever seen him.

 

The Aunts turn on him next, pulling him in for a tight hug. He groans and looks like he might try to wiggle out of it, but only for a moment, before his body collapses and he holds tightly to the woman in front of him.

 

“Betty,” Sabrina sniffles, wiping the last of the tears away, “First of all if you ever tell anyone I cried I’ll lie and say it didn’t happen, and no one will ever believe you. Second, I’d like you to meet my Aunts. They raised me after the first Outbreak. This is Hilda and Zelda.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Betty. We’ve heard so much about you,” Zelda smiles and pats her shoulder gently.

 

Betty’s face screws together in confusion. It is a sweet statement, but she can’t fathom how they could have heard of her at all, except perhaps in a quick conversation with Toni or Cheryl on the walk over here. The way Hilda is studying Jughead’s face, scolding him for something, makes it seem like they haven’t seen him in a while.

 

“You have?”

 

“No,” Zelda says with a laugh, the same sort of cackle that Sabrina always gives, “But I’m sure we would have if Jughead ever wrote anyone. You help raise someone for years, but the second they take over a militia, it’s like you never even existed. Has he been good?”

 

Jughead meets Betty’s eyes, and she can tell he was about to cut in, explain it was something she didn’t have to answer, but before he could she quickly cut him off, voice full of sincerity as she said, “He’s been nothing short of spectacular.”

 

She watches his eyes change, overcome with the same kind of fogginess he always gets right before they tumble into bed together. If they weren’t in such a public setting, she knows that he would be kissing her as fiercely as he could. As it stands the only reason he isn’t right now might be Hilda double checking over him and poking his ribs, commenting on how thin he looks.

The comment catches Betty off guard, and she looks down at her own body. Certainly, it doesn’t have the same kind of roundness that it had in the city, where the occasional luxury of processed sweets and foods would be offered for a higher price at the grocery shops. Her clothes hang all but limply off of her small frame. But there’s most muscle there now, a strength she did not know was at all possible courses through her veins.

 

“I’m not surprised,” Hilda kisses his forehead once before finally letting him go. “You and Sabrina both were always destined for greatness. It was all but written in the stars, one might say! So, what’s this all about?”

 

Jughead and Sabrina quickly get to explaining to them the purpose of the gathering. Already the audience is growing restless but they need to make sure everyone is in attendance, that they are hearing words of reassurance right from the mouths of those determined to save them. A few minutes later, Kevin is in front of them, looking like the embodiment of the anxiety that sits heavy on everyone’s hearts. He informs them that all the houses are cleared out and everyone in Riverdale capable of attending is sitting in front of them waiting like nervous sheep being lead to slaughter.

 

A hush falls over the inhabitants of both Riverdale and Greendale as the group takes their stand. It feels like they’re being lead to the guillotine by Kevin, who as quickly as he walked them on, runs off to join the others. He’s shaking like a leaf and it’s making Betty more nervous than she is so she has to take her eyes elsewhere and focus them on the sweet family in the front row,. he Andrews who have given her so much, and the way Archie smiles back at her like no matter what happens he knows everything will be okay- that no matter what his best friend is going to protect him, protect them.

 

Her heart twists so painfully tight and Betty wishes she could run off the same way Kevin had, but this is the bed she has made, to stand beside Jughead and try and calm the town that hates her as the reality they have been so carefully shielded from crumbles into view before them. She feels Jughead reach out and grip her hand so tightly it starts to bruise. Gritting her teeth, she endures the pain to squeeze back, and just like that it pulls the trigger. He opens his mouth and the well-practiced words are spilling out.

 

Betty nearly blacks out in the middle of it. These are all things she knows and yet, when phrased like this, when said with such passion and urgency, she feels nothing but dread. Not even halfway through the description of the new Diseased they’ve faced she can hear the murmurings. Toni is darting through the crowd of Serpents, doing her best to calm them, as Cheryl patrols through the civilians to make sure none of them will start a riot.

 

“We don’t know how they came here, or why, or how this started, but we suspect it’s something to do with the Second Outbreak within the City walls. It’s likely they were not able to contain it completely with such limited information, or that the Ghoulies had someone on the inside feeding them information. There was a sewer system that they could have broken a few creatures out of. Regardless of how it happened, we know that the Ghoulies are attempting to weaponize them. After Greendale’s fall, their sights are likely set on Riverdale. We don’t know when the raid will occur, but I promise you it will, and when it does it will not be pretty.” Jughead speaks with authority and if she couldn’t feel his hand shaking in hers, Betty might believe the bravado he puts on for the crowd.

 

People try to speak up, but he continues on. “From tonight onward we are issuing mandatory curfew one hour before the sun sets, and you are not to leave your homes until one hour after the sun rises. I know this cuts into the days’ productivity but until we can more accurately assess the threat this is the best way to keep all of you safe. We are doubling up on Serpent detail and with the Witches here we will have enough bodies to continue patrols as we want them to be done. This is not information we are giving you to insight fear, but collectively we made the decision that this was something we could not keep hidden. We are going to do everything we can to keep this place, Riverdale, our home, safe.”

 

“It’s her fault!” the first voice breaks through the silence and someone near the back is standing, pointing his finger towards Betty, his face red from how loud he is screaming just to be heard. “She brought this with her like a plague! And you let her in, the plague bringer!”

 

Veronica’s voice cuts harshly through the babble of the crowd. Unlike him, she hardly has to raise her voice, speaking with such elegance and passion that people are drawn to follow the sound of her voice regardless. “Oh shut up, Old Man McGinty. You’re deranged. You once told me snakes were going to start falling from the sky for our transgressions against God. Go back to the library and see Sister Woodhouse, who’ll be willing to listen to you're insane rantings, you old, withered asshole. Betty has done nothing but try her very best for us. She joined the Serpents, which is not something most of us have the courage to do. If you’re going to blame her for our struggles than I get to blame your ugly mouth every time my child cries.”

 

The man opens his mouth to say something else but to Betty’s surprise a frustrated Archie cuts him off. “She said, shut up, and you really don’t want to hear my wife repeat herself.”

 

From the sidelines, she can see Cheryl gaping beside Kevin, wide-eyed and enthralled by the goings on here. The residence of Riverdale and the Greendale refugees take things in stride much better than anyone had expected. There are questions, worries, a slight unrest she can feel crackling in the air, but the Serpents and the Witches stand strong even when faced with their strongest opposition yet. They have more details to give at the Whyte Wyrm, when they start planning, but they are not things mundane citizens need to be privy to. For now, they know there is a threat far worse than anything else they have endured coming and soon.

 

“In Unity, there is strength,” a chorus of Serpents shouts and she can hear Sabrina repeating the mantra beside her as well. It falls easily from her own lips. For a moment she’s less afraid, more sure that perhaps, just maybe, this is not the death sentence they had all envisioned.

 

But then the clouds turn gray and the wind picks up. It’s cold and biting like it always is when winter starts to melt into spring. People are starting to gather their things, their family, and whatever they can trade in a hurry before the curfew starts. Just as things are starting to calm down, Betty sees something over the small hill, stumbling forward the same way she had on the first time she had arrived in Riverdale.

 

Her heart stops when the person gets closer, too close for comfort, slouched over themselves and bleeding. For a moment she’s sure Jughead is going to shoot, shouting at everyone to get back as he pulls out his gun and Cheryl draws her bow by his side. But then the creature looks up and its eyes are not the soulless monstrosities she has looked into, but ached and pained, familiar.

 

There is a hole in his arm, but it is not from a Diseased bite. There is no pus of rotting flesh, but a clean wound straight through, like someone had put a knife through his forearm. There’s a bullet hole in his upper arm and stumble on his cheeks from neglect. Betty doesn’t realize she’s forgotten to breathe until Jughead nearly collapses beside her.

 

“Dad.” he sounds so young. So small. Then louder, more frantic, he shouts the name again, over and over as he leaps from the stage and catches FP Jones as he falls forward with a grunt of agony.

 

The other Serpents are rushing forward now, but Jughead yells for them to get back as he stumbles forward, perching his dad on the makeshift stage. FP lurches forward, throwing up bile and alcohol. Betty grabs a blanket someone had been using in the crowd and throws it over his shaking shoulders while everyone buzzes about to gather supplies to patch up their King.

 

Jughead has already dictated Toni and Cheryl to grab something to sterilize his wounds and whatever else they can find. Veronica waves her hands and points to her house, not too far away, and a few Serpents follow her.

 

“What happened? Dad, tell me what happened?” She can hear the panic in his voice, the wide-eyed frenzy. Everyone can smell the blood in the air and she knows everyone is hoping that there isn’t enough of it that those monsters can smell it from where they are buried underground.

 

The man groans, gurgles as he spits out more blood. His teeth are stained red, his cheeks sullen, his eyes hollow with something that looks a lot like fear. The damage done to him has been slow and deliberate over the course of days if not weeks. Betty feels rage boil inside her veins, the kind that could be used to kill if given the opportunity, and she bites her tongue so hard she can taste metal in her mouth. Despite how absent FP has been, this is the man who saved her life, who gave her a chance at something outside of the City when the rest of them were so determined to send her off to die. She doubts she would have made it out of Greendale if she ended up there.

 

“Penny,” he finally croaks out. “That bitch caught me out when I was hunting for food and drug me to her Ghoulie hideout. I saw those….those things. The monsters. Whatever the hell they were.” He groans, slumping forward and gesturing to his shirt. It’s stuck to his bag, dried blood caking the once white fabric dark and muddy.

 

Betty quickly pulls out her knife, peeling it back with as little pain as she can — though she can hear the way FP hisses with every touch and crack — before slicing it through. There’s pus in his wounds, an infection. Not the kind that will turn him into one of the living dead, but it isn’t one people want, especially all the way out here where medicine is in short supply and used only in emergency situations. But that isn’t the most ghastly thing about the sight before her. It’s the words, carved into his tattered skin, visible even through the torn scabs.

 

_ TOMORROW _

 

Tomorrow. They’re coming tomorrow. It’s as clear as any message she has ever seen, bright and red and burned into her brain for the rest of her life. No one doubts who it’s from. Penny and the Ghoulies are making it clear their intentions and, out of ignorance or pride or both, giving them the chance to prepare.

 

Jughead looks sick as he gazes down at the wound. He starts to shake so violently, Betty has to reach out and take his hands in hers to get him to breathe. “I’ll kill her,” he spits, “I’ll fucking kill her.”

 

“I know you will, Juggie. But right now we need to get your dad to the Andrews house so they can take care of him there. We need to get ready for tonight.” She gestures to the sky, where the morning hours are already fading. It’s nearly noon which limits exactly how much they’re able to do before their nightly duties get in the way. Serpents will be working overtime, she knows that now, and there’s already a swirling mess of ideas rattling around in her head about how best to help.

 

It takes three larger Serpents to get FP safely inside the Andrews home. Veronica promises she’ll keep him safe tonight and Fred refuses to leave his side until he’s more coherent. Jughead looks like he wants to follow, to linger by his father’s side to make sure he makes it through the night, but the burdens of his life have finally come to haunt him, clawing at his ankles and pulling him straight into the fray.

 

Betty tells Sabrina about an idea she has for the generators, to make them stronger at the risk of more power consumption. She would be able to turn it on and off, which would leave them without their border tonight, but make it so tomorrow they’d be more likely to fry off Diseased or Ghoulie fingers if they try to climb the wall. It’s an executive decision to go out and do it, while Jughead takes headcount of Serpents and starts planning out a tactical arrangement for the night with Toni who seems to be tossing his ideas away as quickly as he throws them out. They’ve rewritten over each other on the page so much it’s nearly black with ink by now. 

 

“Be safe,” Jughead says softly when they grab the tools they need. “Please.”

 

She knows he couldn’t bear to have to deal with another collapsed love one tonight, so she grabs him hard and kisses him until her knees are weak and Sabrina is making gagging noises behind them. “Come on, there are children present.”

 

“I’ll be safe,” Betty promises him. 

 

He lets her go them and the two of them quickly make their way to where the generators are. There are a few Diseased clamoring around, easy enough to take care of when they’re weak and blinded by daylight. Sabrina has a baseball bat drilled with nails that Betty finds absolutely intimidating and yet strangely comforting.

 

“His name is Salem.”

 

“Isn’t that your cats name?” she says with a laugh, kneeling down by the generators.

 

“It’s an easy name to remember.”

 

They work in near silence, Sabrina handing Betty things when she asks for them, nervously pacing back and forth while she watches the sun make its slow descent over the horizon. It takes a few hours until the gate starts to zap the way she wants it to. Betty pulls out the small scrap of meat she’d stolen from the Wyrm. Hopefully Hot Dog, won’t be too mad about it, given he’ll have free reign on Diseased meat tomorrow night. She tosses it towards the fence and waits with bated breath. The metal makes a loud popping noise and the meat falls to the ground, burnt, steam swirling upwards into the air.

 

She’s filled with indescribable pride at her creation and silently she sends a thank you to Sweet Pea who’d joked with her about a super-powered electric fence in the days before his untimely death. Sabrina whistles low, looking to her with a smile.

 

“Wow. Didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

 

“To be fair, you haven’t known me long, I’m sure there are a lot of things I know how to do that you don’t know about. I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue.”

 

“Have you showed Jughead that one?”

 

“No, special secret only for my closet friends, the ones I’m sure won’t bend me over the nearest hard surface once they see.”

 

Sabrina laughs. “Bold assumption, Betty. You know I’m an on the market woman right now.”

 

There’s something so strange about laughter and levity given the situation, but she always finds that with Sabrina. It’s like she’s been trained to always look for the bright side, to expect the worst, chase the best, but take a deep breath and accept when it doesn’t work out of the best. She is a comforting presence that Betty is grateful for during these stressful times.

 

By the time they get back to the Wyrm, it’s nearly sundown. Serpents and Witches alike are crowded within the bar, whispering to themselves, going over assignments for this night and the next. There’s no rest for the wicked in a wicked down so even though it would be better if everyone was rested for tomorrow, there needs to be people protecting their home tonight.

 

Jughead is standing near the bar, a glass of something in his hands. It’s clear and Betty’s sure that if she got closer it would smell like ethanol but there’s no need to scold or worry tonight. Everyone in the bar is drinking to help ease the fears of what tomorrow might bring. Even she might be convinced to try a drink if the very smell didn’t make her stomach twist in knots.

 

When she takes a few steps closer, she’s surprised to see Archie standing there too. He and Jughead are arguing about something that has them both upset the point of whisper yelling. There’s so much chatter in the bar she can’t hear them until she’s practically standing right beside them both. Sabrina waves to her quickly and makes a quick turn so she can make her way through the crowd to where her Witches are, listening to Hilda and Zelda explain what they have seen on their missions. Neither of Jughead nor Archie notice her approach.

 

“You aren’t fighting and that’s final, Arch. Stop trying to convince me to change my mind.”

 

“You’re being stubborn for no reason. I’m strong and you know I can hold my own in a fight. You need numbers, even with the Witches, and I’m another body you can throw in.”

 

“I’m not throwing you in anywhere,” Jughead’s upset, that much Betty can tell, eyebrows creased as he takes shaky breaths to calm himself. “You aren’t just another body. You’re the carpenter of this town, and on top of that, you have a family. You have a son and a wife and if you died I would never hear the end of it from Veronica. Is that the kind of life you want to set me up for?”

 

Archie seems less than amused by his friend’s excuses. “I know I’m not a Serpent, but you need people out there.”

 

“No tattoo, no fight. This is Serpent business and you aren’t that. Listen, man, I’m not trying to emasculate you here. And I’m not just protecting you because you’re my best friend either. You, Veronica, and Wyatt, you mean something to this town, no matter if they want to admit it or not. You’re hope for the future. I’m not going to toss that away just so you can prove yourself in some non-existent reputation contest. Besides, someone has to watch my dad to make sure he doesn’t go feral. I’m counting on you to do that for me.”

 

There seems to be a little fight left in Archie, but one more look at his friend and he’s caving, letting out a sigh. “Fine. Alright. I get it, Jug. I’ll do what I can around town until them. If you need me to at least make anything let me know.”

 

“Actually, I was wondering if you could spend the night making spikes? I can draw up some quick dimensions for you, but Toni mentioned digging pits around the perimeter and concealing them. We’ll need something to be there to break their fall, if you know what I mean.”

 

He lights up at the idea, excited to be participating in any capacity for the fight for his home. “You got it. I’ll start the second I get home and make as many as I can. I’m sure Dad and Veronica would be willing to help too.”

 

“I’m sure they would. Thank you.” Archie pulls him in for a tight embrace and for once Jughead doesn’t try to pull back. He melts into it, patting his friend twice on the back before they separate. They stare at each other for a few beats before Archie turns and quickly jogs out of the building.

 

Betty’s by his side quickly after that, sliding into the bar chair beside him. “Sabrina and I finished the gates. It works how I wanted it to. We’ll need extra hands on perimiter to make up for it tonight, but when I turn it on we’ll have a few hours of zapping. I think we should have someone stationed by there the entire night to turn it on and off, conserve as much power as we can. I know it’s not a glamour job but it’s important. Maybe a younger Serpent. It’s out of harm’s way for the most part but it’s vital.”

 

“Why don’t you post up there, then?” He’s trying to be casual, but she can tell by the way he says it, the softness in his voice, the way his eyes won’t meet hers, that he’s serious.

 

“I’m not standing there waiting to find out who’s dead and who’s not, Jughead.”

 

“You heard what I said earlier to Archie. You aren’t technically a Serpent, not yet. You’re more Serpent adjacent than anything and I’m not sure I’m willing to risk you out in this fight. I can’t make you stay home so I’m asking you to stand in a place that I can keep you safe, working the machine that you know best, that you helped make.”

 

She tries not to seethe, to see red. His reasoning makes sense--trusting this kind of heavy machinery to a teenager might not be ideal, but she refuses to sit idly by, biting her nails while she watches the chaos from above. “Well, it’s a good thing it isn’t your choice then. Listen, you can post me up there if you want, but you know as well as I do that I’ll leave it the second I can.”

 

The look in his eyes tells her he wants to argue more so she doesn’t let him. Betty stands up and stares him down. “I’ll go to Toni right now if I have to. I’ll ask her to ink me if you’re adamant on this tattoo thing. I deserve to be here, to fight. The Serpents have given me everything, this town has given me everything, and I have to be there fighting for it. Besides, what would Sweet Pea say if you pushed me to the sidelines.”

 

Jughead sighs and offers her a half-hearted smile. “He’d tell me I was wasting the best throwing arm in the entire gang.”

 

“Exactly. Trust me on this one, Juggie. Please. I need to do this.”

 

He relaxes into her touch, reaching out to put his hand on hers. She moves into his arms and rests her head on his, comforted by the gentle way his hand trails up and down her back. No one dares to interrupt the moment, and for that, she’s grateful, safe for one final moment in his embrace.

 

“For what it’s worth, and I know you’ve never listened to me once in my entire life, but I’m gonna give it a shot anyway - if you don’t make Betty a Serpent I’m gonna rip her out from under you. I’m running low on witches.” Hilda, Zelda, and Sabrina have made a slow approach towards them. Despite the levity in her voice, her posture is hunched and Betty can see worry hidden behind her eyes.

 

“Thanks, Sabrina. I take that as a compliment.”

 

“You should. I’m a lot pickier than Jug is. He’ll take anyone with two legs.”

 

“Like hell you can have her,” Jughead pulls Betty closer, resting his head on hers, letting his hands thread through hers. “Go away unless you have something important to say.”

 

Looking troubled, Hilda nods and starts to speak, “Tomorrow morning you’re going to want to take to Madame Mayor. We have it on good authority she knows more about this new brand of Diseased than she’s been willing to say. She has been in contact with a few of the Councilman for the last few weeks getting updates and hasn’t deemed it necessary to share that with you all, even with the impending horde coming. Not particularly mayorly if you ask me, but I’ve never been mayor.”

 

“Of course she fucking does,” Jughead curses, his head falling into his hands. “Because nothing in this town will ever be easy. She spends hours lecturing us on how dangerous it was to keep secrets and of course she’s got so many skeletons in her closet it might as well be a graveyard.”

 

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Betty decides. “We can’t right now. It’s too late and she’s already locked up for the night in her home. If we bust the door down she’ll have every right to shoot. We need to hold strong about this and be smart.”

 

“You really think she’ll talk to us? When we’ve already made it clear how dangerous this is? How we know when the sun goes down tomorrow night we’ll be flooded with things we don’t know how to face and pissed off Ghoulies. Do we have a number count?”

 

Zelda shrugs, clicking her tongue. Her features are sharp and so is her personality a stark contrast from the sugary sweetness that oozes from her sister. “Unfortunately not. They’ve done a good job hiding in the woods and even my scouts can’t get a rough estimate. We won’t know until they start in on us. I’ll make sure to have people stationed in the woods, so they can’t retreat without a fight, and to keep an eye out for numbers.”

 

Betty knows that whatever information Hermione has is going to be vital to their survival. These new creatures, the new Diseased, are a product spawned from the troubled and desperate minds of the City and she’s sure the Council has shared at least some of what makes them tick with the Mayor. Anything is better than the next to nothing they have, than the few horror stories from troubled Greendale refugees and the memory of Sweet Pea’s death.

 

“Maybe we’re going at it wrong. Maybe we don’t need to confront her. Maybe someone else does.”

 

Jughead raises an eyebrow a smile already dancing on his lips. “Oh yeah? Well, who did you have in mind?”

 

The next morning Veronica Andrews brushes past Kevin on the way to her mother’s office with Jughead, Sabrina, and Betty right behind her. She’s on a warpath and every step she takes might as well be a crack of lightning reverberating off the town hall walls. There is a righteous fury in her eyes that has everyone she passes cowering in fear. If Wyatt weren’t waiting at home for his mother to return, Betty might turn to Jughead and suggest they send Veronica out to fight the Ghoulies tonight. Surely she’d scare a fair few of them away with just a glance.

 

Veronica throws open the old Pre-Outbreak doors. The wood groans under her pressure, banging against the walls. Surprised, Hermione jolts up straight, looking forward to see the crowd gathered around her. There is a moment of puzzlement that slowly draws into realization. She sighs and sets her glasses along with her paperwork aside.

 

“Can I help you?” the mayor asks with tight lips, jaw clenched, poised like a tiger ready to fight.

 

“I have it on good authority, Mother, that there’s something you haven’t deemed necessary to share with the Serpents. I’m not sure if you remember this, or if you’ve gone senile in your older age, but they are our first line of defense. If you find something that can help them, you tell them!” She’s practically seething. Watching her reminds Betty of the terrifying beauty of an erupting volcano, overflowing with lava, scorching the Earth and preparing it for a rebirth. “So I’d like an explanation. And I’d like it quickly, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not sure if you’ve heard but today is a busy day.”

 

“I think maybe you’ve forgotten who’s in charge around here, Veronica. What I decide to keep a secret is my business, not any of yours. Who are you to judge me for my choices when you make the ones you do?”

 

It had never occurred to Betty until now just how deep the rift between the mayor and her daughter was. In all the times she had been around the Andrews house, she had never seen Hermione there, never seen her so much as look in Wyatt’s direction even if they both happened to be near the Market at the same time. Wyatt had never asked for her, never made mention and perhaps it was because he simply didn’t know who she was.

 

Veronica steels herself immediately. “He’s your grandson, like it or not. I’m not rehashing an old argument with you. I kept him, I love him, and so does everyone else. He is going to be loved and safe for the rest of his life and he will never feel abandoned like I do. Now you are going to tell these people who are trying to save your life, and everyone else’s, what it is you know about the new Diseased. Because there is an invasion happening  _ tonight  _ and if we go in blind all of us are as good as dead and the Serpents would be able to protect you in your ivory tower. You’ll end up trapped until one of them finally claws through and rips your throat out. Maybe I’ll get lucky enough to shoot you like you shot Daddy.”

 

“I feel like I’ve interrupted something extremely personal. Should we leave?” Sabrina mutters under her breath in Betty’s general direction. She has to bite the inside of her tongue to keep from laughing.

 

“Veronica you’re acting like a child.”

 

“And you are acting selfish! No, beyond selfish, you’re acting like a monster. Sabrina, Betty, and Jughead are here to get answers, and they are not leaving until they get them. If you want to die than that’s your choice but you do not get to condemn this town just so you can keep secrets.”

 

Hermione steadies herself for another argument, but when she looks up and sees the tears in her daughter's’ eyes, the poise she carries herself with even in the midst of her inner turmoil, Betty watches that iron facade shatter to pieces. This is the first time she’s really gotten the chance to study the mayor. Most meetings with Jughead and her, Betty has not been invited to, for good reason given her existence in this town is still fresh in the grand scheme of things. The woman has fine lines in her face, the same kind Alice had, but the weight she carries on her shoulders does not shrink her. If anything, she carries them with a startling amount of grace. There are scars on her hands and Betty realizes, shocked, that the middle finger on her left hand is missing.

 

She can only concoct a story to fill in the blanks. Hermione is not the kind of woman you ask those questions to, but like many other wounds in Riverdale, it no likely came from hardships brought upon by stressful times and hard pressed decisions. She’s as cracked and broken as the town she claims to lead and protect. Long black hair is highlighted with aged silver. Betty remembers Alice again and the white she used to complain about threaded through her golden hair, plucking out strands in the mirror, wrapping them up in cloth so she didn’t have to look at them. Hermione doesn’t hide her hair in tight twists and buns, she wears it long, regal, down to the small of her back. This woman, like her daughter, is a frightening force of nature. Their class is like two hurricanes caught out at sea.

 

Finally, after a pause that lingers so weighted in the air it is nearly stifling, the older woman breaks. She looks away and nods, resigned at last, to tell the truth.

 

“Alright. Okay.” She sits back in her chair and turns just slightly so she can peer through the cracks in the boarded up window. There’s glass on the ground, like someone -- or more likely something -- had tried to punch through it. “I’ll tell you the truth. A few weeks after Betty arrived I was phoned by a few City councilmen to inform me what was happening. At first, they were vague, but every day I dug a little deeper and got more information.

 

“This new strain of Diseased is a muted attempt at an antidote. Scientists administered the cure to a few of those things and at first, it seemed to be working. Fissures on their skin closed up, their eyes looked clear again, and they were even communicating. Every hallmark of the sickness was gone. Finally they were making progress and it didn’t seem like much time until they could release it out into the market. Maybe make a vaccine. But the so-called cure turned out to be an enhanced mutation of the virus with consequences they weren’t expecting. The Diseased gained more humanity, yes, but not the aspects we would have wanted. Within days they were morphing back into what they were before, but deadlier. They could understand commands and were talking with each other. Even if the language was remedial at best, the news was troubling. Immediately the test subjects were put down and the scientists vowed to start fresh. At least, that’s what the Council thought.

 

“There must have been someone in the ranks that wanted chaos. Or maybe a chance at taking over. No one knows really what happened but a few of the antidote vials went missing. They kept them to keep working on the cure. Why waste all that had been done? That was the reasoning. One day the lead scientist, Waldo Weatherbee, went to grab a sample and found a handful of them missing and the remaining handful of Diseased they’d planned to extract samples from had been freed into the sewers. They’re quicker, deadlier, and worse they can not only infect humans, but other Diseased with the mutation.”

 

“The Ghoulies,” Jughead says softly, taking a deep breath. “It was them. We always figured they had spies in the City, it would be stupid not to, so if something went missing and now they’ve got these things on leashes? It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m not sure what their plan was when they released them out into the wild.”

 

“To cause chaos. They were chasing people out of the City so they could make more of them. Those people on the bus with me, I’m sure some of them are turned, I’m positive of it. They were picking them off one by one. That’s why none of the buses ever made it back. And if the City is in disrepair they can’t send out help our way. They can barely help themselves. Penny, or whoever, is counting on the fact that they’ll be able to rebuild but if they can’t then it’s no skin off her nose. She’s still got this army of people eating monsters at her beck and call. She thinks she can control them and maybe she can for now but it’s only a matter of time before they get tired of being controlled.” Betty feels like her head is spinning, like the ground has opened up and dares to swallow her hole. There’s a sickness in her stomach and bile rises up and burns her throat.

 

Veronica looks sick too and stares at her mother like she might as well be about to sprout two heads and start gnashing on bones. “And you didn’t think to tell us this until now? Until you were pressed?”

 

“I was trying to protect you! Protect everyone. What was I going to do, Veronica? Make an announcement and send everything here into the same kind of chaos in the City? This isn’t an easy job and this was not a decision I made lightly.”

 

“You may not have made it lightly, but you made it stupidly. You put everyone in Riverdale at risk. We deserved to know the truth. If you had maybe people would be alive. Maybe Dilton and Ben and Chuck and Moose and Sweet Pea would all still be alive. Maybe Greendale wouldn’t have burnt to the ground! You did this. Open your eyes and look around. I see chaos.” Veronica gestures around the dimly lit office. The point is made even if there is nothing to see. “Effective immediately you are relieved of your mayoral duties.”

 

Hermione stands, outraged. “And what authority do you have to do that? You’re a civilian!”

 

“She may not have the authority, but I do,” Jughead says, stepping forward from his place near the dark shadows of the back. “Hermione Lodge, I, Jughead Jones, leader of the Serpent militia, am declaring Riverdale in a state of emergency. As such, all decision making power is transferred to the Serpents as defined in the laws you helped write with my father. Given that I don’t really have time to be dealing with any of that bureaucratic shit, I hand over the duty to your daughter, Veronica, until further notice.”

 

“Hear that, Mother? I hope you’re proud.” Veronica spins on her heels. “Alright boys and girls, we’ve got important planning to do. There’s only a few hours until sunset and we need to make sure we’re fortified and ready for battle. What can I do to help?”

 

“That curfew. I need you and Kevin to make sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be tonight. Make sure every civilian has a weapon, even if it’s just something they can bludgeon with. If anyone gets into their homes they can’t be defenseless. Also, see how far along Archie is with those spikes.”

 

“He better be done with them. Fred and I were up all night helping him and Wyatt nearly lost an eye this morning. How many more should we make?”

 

“As many as he can,” Jughead explains, “but the second the sun starts to set he needs to grab as many Serpents as he can and start putting them in the holes. I’ve had people digging for hours, since last night. Also, have civilian volunteers make basic coverings for the traps. Leaves, twigs, I don’t really care what.”

 

Urgency, tension, fear starts to leak into the little room as Hermione sits there in apprehension. Betty knows she needs to focus, to be alert and on her best behavior for tonight, but the knowledge that this woman has spoken to the Council, might know if her mother is okay, wraps so tightly around her body that it threatens to deprive her of oxygen.

 

“You spoke to the Council,” Betty says softly, moving closer to Hermione. “Do you….did you speak to my mother at all? Alice Cooper? Or someone who might know if she’s okay?”

 

Hermione regards her wearily but shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry, Betty, I haven’t heard anything about your mother. But I’d hold onto the thought that no news is good news. From what my contacts have told me they’re starting to get things under control as best they can.”

 

Swallowing down her disappointment, Betty nods. “Thank you, for telling me.” She turns back towards the other group, discussing quickly and quietly what final preparations need to be made. She reaches up and tightens her ponytail. The pull grounds her again and she shakes off the sadness to deal with another time. Right now, this town, her town, needs her at her finest.

 

Quickly, they discuss the final preparations. Veronica promises to have the civilians under control and in their homes by the time curfew hits. They’re not sure when the Ghoulies will strike but from what they’ve gathered, mutated or not, the Diseased don’t enjoy being out in the daylight. That makes them harder to handle and it’s likely Penny won’t risk having a crazed mutiny on her hands in the middle of what she’ll deem her most important coup.

 

Sabrina goes to rally the remaining Witches and prepare them for the night. Veronica and Kevin split up to gather what supplies they can, bringing bats and posts to Archie so he can quickly fashion as many weapons as possible.

 

“Anything we can spare in the Serpent stash we will,” Jughead explains as they make their way towards the Wyrm. Everyone is waiting there for them, waiting for their moment of reckoning, when the town will burst aflame and all they can do is fight for their freedom, their home, their happiness. “I promise.”

 

“And I promise to keep your dad safe, Jug.” They share a moment bordering on tender and before Betty’s very eyes, Veronica reaches forward and pulls him into a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare die on me, understand? Wyatt needs you. Archie needs you.”

 

“What about you? Do you need me?” he teases, squeezing her shoulder.

 

She frowns and pulls back, sitting straighter. “Don’t even think about it. I wouldn’t miss you. But I think this town might. And if I’m mayor then I need you to be at your finest. Don’t die on me.”

 

“I won’t. I don’t have any intention of dying. No one does tonight. I have too much to fight for nowadays anyway.” His eyes briefly flit towards Betty and he smiles. She feels her heart swell to near bursting. Without a doubt in her mind, she knows that she loves him and that she is going to fight for him and everyone in Riverdale tonight.

 

Veronica leaves in a rush, determined to get as much done as she can before nightfall, when even the little spitfire will be locked away at home with bated breath. If they lose, if the Serpents and the Witches fall, so will the town. She imagines people waiting in their houses for the sun to rise. It will be a sleepless night in Riverdale tonight.

 

They go to the office of the Wyrm for a few moments of silence. Betty moves to him quickly, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. It is good to just hold him, to press her ear to his chest and hear the steady thunder of his heart, the blood pumping through his veins. She tries not to dwell on the cold reality that this might be the last time she ever hears that beat. She is stationed near the back with Cheryl and the others who will be at range during the fight. Jughead, as their leader, is on the front lines. He has his trusty gun and a few magazines to go with it, as well as his melee weapons that are tried and true. She watches as he straps knives to his body in hidden spots before moving to her.

 

It’s intimate, how carefully he wraps the pouch around her calf and sheaths the machete inside. She has to walk carefully to avoid hurting herself, but once he’s finished and the strap snaps into place, he presses a kiss to her knee. Betty is surprised by how tender it is but perhaps she shouldn’t be anymore. The man Jughead is serves as a walking contradiction. Hard and soft. Ruthless and gentle. He does what he has to, not what he wants.

 

“I love you,” she says softly, reaching out so she can tangle a hand in his hair. It grounds their realities together as she listens to the heavy exhale of air from his lungs.   
  


“I love you too.”

 

They say it so matter of factly. It should be suffocating, terrifying, but when she looks into his eyes, a strong serenity encompasses her. If she is going to die, she is going to die knowing love and family and hope. This is the kind of death anyone could ask for -- the kind of death heroes in her books get. It is a death she is ready for, one she knows he is too, but one she hopes never comes. There are so many years they have left to live together. She can feel the hum in her blood, the desperation for survival, can taste it on her tongue. 

 

When Betty pulls him in for a kiss, they taste each other, gentle and adoring with every flick of her tongue and every drag of his hand. They don’t have much time. Just below them, the militias are preparing for battle. She can hear the scuff of heavy boots against wood, the bang of metal bats and poles as people whisper their worries into a pitless air. They pull apart when they know it is time. 

 

The sun starts to set over the horizon. She can see it now, from the slots in the windows, the world bathing in hues of orange and red. Her little town, her home, is so beautifully painted, so serenely perfect, that an onlooker might have trouble understanding the unrest that stirs beneath.

 

“Are you ready?” Jughead whispers against her skin.

 

Betty nods, reaching out to tangle their hands together. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord that cliffhanger right? I promise you aren't the only one. The lovely beta immediately sent me "you're killing me with this cliffhanger!" Only two chapters left and I promise they'll both be wild ones! MWAH
> 
> Next: Chapter 9: Night of the Living Dead
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b


	9. Night of the Living Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! sorry for the long wait after that cliffhanger!! I hope you're still just as excited as I am about this fic <3 I can't believe there's only one chapter next. Thank you all for such sweet words and positivity about this fic. it just...i am flailing and grateful. 
> 
> With that being said, I need everyone to be aware that this chapter is rather gruesome. I don't describe all the fighting but there are graphic descriptions of violence in the same line of when Betty killed that Diseased but like for a lot of the chapter. With that, there's also some deaths in this chapter. So...buckle up for safety!
> 
> Thank you to @miss-eee. My wonderful amazing beta!

It feels like everyone in Riverdale is holding their breath. Windows are boarded up as quickly as they can, families and refugees congregating in places that are more secure. The more people in a room, the more bodies you can throw at anything threatening to come down and with a threat no one completely understands, it's the smartest maneuver. Sabrina takes the as many of the Witches as she can to back the perimeter. Cheryl and a few other archers take their post on one of the taller buildings in town, but Toni stays planted by Jughead’s side.

 

Betty’s stationed somewhere between the front lines and where her cousin sits like a nighthawk ready to strike. There’s two axes strapped to her back, spare knives that people have offered from their homes, and the knives that Sweet Pea gave her. There’s a sadness that stirs in her stomach as she stares down at the delicately worked metal. She weighs them with her palms and traces along the little engraved S. It was made with a pocket knife, haphazardly etched, making the metal rough. There’s a gentle bite in it as it cuts into the pad of her thumb, but the pain helps ground her in the reality of tonight. People are going to get hurt. People are going to die. But she only hopes it’s no one on her side.

 

That’s a possibility, and she has to remind herself again and again. With the enemy still such a vague abstraction of reality there is no telling if they’ve prepared as well as they should have. The final judgment will only be made when the curtain falls, and they’re left to count the bodies in their wake.

 

“Take a deep breath,” She hears Sabrina whisper beside her, reaching out to clasp her hand tightly. “You’re shaking. I know this is scary, especially for a City girl like you, but we need you focused. High alert is great but dropping you're equipment isn’t.”

 

“That’s not who I am anymore.” Defensive, she almost lashes out. What will it take for them to see her as someone else, someone beyond the privileged little girl who needs to be protected, someone who can stand tall beside them and fight a fight that belongs to her just as much as them? These new monsters were in part her mother’s doing and it only feels right she be the one to help eradicate them.

 

Sabrina softens and moves her hand away. “I know. I know.”

 

Overtaken by silence again, the town of Riverdale hums with heavy anticipation. She can all but feel the way the electricity crackles in the air and every breath she takes feels like a brick sitting right on top of her rib cage. She counts and recounts all the Serpents and Witches she can see. Hopefully, someone else took an official headcount, but if worse come to worst -- and everyone is forced to face the cruel reality of the world -- they will have to know how many bodies are accounted for, how many have been burned to avoid the spread of the plague.

 

The collapse of her world is not a gradual ascension. For a moment everything is in a state of steady uneasy and the next she can hear Cheryl shout from above, “Look alive cousin!” and those three words open the floodgates to Hell.

 

They’re overrun almost immediately. It’s hard to make out anyone amongst the chaos. Faces turn to blurs, and she can’t tell who’s on her side and who isn’t. There’s a sea of leather jackets and suddenly Betty makes sense of why Jughead told them all to leave them home tonight. It’s easier to spot the Ghoulies, harder for them to sneak and infiltrate their ranks if they have a clear identifiable marker. Not all of them are wearing studded jackets, but it’s enough to make the sea a little clearer.

 

She watches her handiwork on the fence with bated breath, praying that all the time she poured into it will hold up to the onslaught of bodies. The line of humans is first to make it there, quicker on their feet, more agile than the slow clamoring horde she can see behind them. It’s enough to stop a few of them in their tracks and she even sees one stumble back and curse as the skin on his hand starts to bubble with electric burns.

 

A few of the quicker Diseased make it there too and confidence surges throughout her being when she watches one, two, three, maybe even more outside of her peripheral crumble to the ground. The corpses twitch on top of one another and Sabrina shouts beside her with excitement.

 

“We did that!” she seems almost amazed by it. Betty feels it too.

 

“Yeah, we did!” 

 

But there’s little time for celebration. The Ghoulies are shouting orders she can’t quite make out amongst the chaos that’s slowly beginning to descend upon them. It’s a cacophony of grunts and moans and angry smacks of wood and rust. Finally, enough Diseased bodies are thrown at the fence that she can hear the distinct zap of a short circuit as all the lights in town start to flicker. It’s enough of an opportunity to clamber over the gates and finally make proper the assault on Riverdale.

 

The leather jackets and shambling corpses don’t give her too much pause as she stands her ground close to Sabrina. She sees a volley of arrows arch overhead, catching a few aggressors and sending them with a thump right back to the other side of the fence. The blood attracts the beast and even their masters can’t properly control their blood lust as they begin to tear apart the flesh of a fallen comrade. Bile rises up in throat and she tries to swallow back down the acidic burn.

 

Arrows are doing nicely for now and she doesn’t want to risk wasting knives or axes until someone gets closer to her line of defense. Sabrina is a mostly melee fighter beside her, with a bat full of nails and a gun cocked with only a few bullets. Their job is to keep the archers safe so they can continue on the offensive. Near the front, she sees a blur of arms and knives and makeshift maces. There are shouts of agony, pain, but she doesn’t know which direction and what people they come from. A gunshot rings out and she knows Jughead is doing his part. It’s strange how much of a comfort the bone-rattling noise can be as it reverberates off of every brick and mortar building.

 

“TT!” Cheryl shouts from overhead, but she stumbles on the roof in her surprise and a few of her arrows scatter.

 

Betty follows her gaze to the front where she spots a swatch of purple hair stuck in the midst of three Diseased, all hungrily gnashing to get a bite. She manages to take one out with a carefully placed swing but even then she staggers back onto her knees. It’s a split second decision and before she can even process what has happened, one of the axes on her back goes flying through the air. It lands with a sickening thunk in someone’s skull as an arrow passes through the last remaining monster.

 

Toni stands there surprised for a minute, looking toward Betty who stands there with outstretched arms and determination. Another dead one. Another Diseased to add to the ever-growing pile of corpses that overflows their world. But at least a friend is safe. Toni smiles at her gently and quickly runs the axe back. “You’ll need this. Thanks for the save. I’ll make sure your boy gets into as much trouble as he can.”

 

“Thank you. We’ll be here watching.”

 

The defensive line had not been her first choice but the truth is the more layers, they have the less likely the Ghoulies are to reach the city center, the homes of the civilians who play no part in this mad grab for power. Her mind flits to the quiet little Andrews home, where Fred is watching over FP’s labored breaths and Wyatt sleeps soundlessly in his mother’s arms. She doubts anyone else will be sleeping tonight as Archie patrols the doors with a shotgun she knows is hidden under the floorboards.

 

Cheryl smiles down at her, shoulders relaxed for the briefest of moments until she turns back towards the fray and launches another arrow forward. This one doesn’t miss. Very few of the ones her cousins sends do, aim true and proud, like she fights for the place she has made into her home, the people she calls hers, the family she never really had.

 

When someone else dares to charge forward through the crowd, Sabrina slashes forward with desperation and blood splatters the ground. It’s reckless the way she swings. Every move is filled with anger, drive, vengeance, and a desire to prove she has earned her place as the Witch leader, despite letting her home fall to attack. The Ghoulie gets a good hit in, cutting through her shirt, leaving a scratch along her shoulder. Red starts to seep from the wound and Betty has to move quickly to stop the bleeding before the Diseased can smell it.

 

She wonders if it even matters if they can though. With so many bodies would the few drops of blood from Sabrina’s arm even be enough to matter in the long run? But they have a few moments and it’s better safe than sorry in times of desperation, so she pulls out one of the few fabric clothes from her medical bag and moves towards her friend. Cheryl watches above as the battlefield medic does her work.

 

“Do you want me to cauterize the wound?” Betty asks quickly, pulling out the zippo lighter from her bag. “It’s bleeding enough it might attract even through the bandage but it’s going to hurt if I do it.”

 

Sabrina nods without hesitation. “Just do it. We don’t need them smelling blood and running our way. We’re not equipped to deal with a horde back here, that’s what Jughead’s doing up front. It’s too risky to lead them closer into town. We need to keep them on the perimeter or- OW! Fucking hell Betty, you need to warn someone.”

 

But the lighter is already on her skin. The smell is horrible, the same kind of rotten stench that filled her nostrils during Sweet Pea’s cremation, but she works through it to ensure the survival of a friend. Every action, no matter how small tonight, is going to ripple out forward and affect every single person. Sabrina bites her tongue so hard Betty can see the blood on her teeth but after a few more excruciating moments the deed is done.

 

“How does it feel?”

 

“Like you took a lighter to my skin?”

 

Betty rolls her eyes but smiles. “Good. That means you’re still alive. You’re lucky it was a Ghoulie and not one of the Diseased though. You can’t be as reckless as you were in that moment. You could get hurt.”

 

“And leave you here to die by yourself? Jughead would never forgive me. And I don’t think I could forgive myself. I sort of like you.”

 

It’s as good of a compliment as she might ever get from Sabrina, so she feels her heart swell just a little bit more, but there’s no time to dwell on happy thoughts, not when at any moment everything could be ripped out from their grasp. They turn and focus back on the seemingly endless horde. She can’t fathom how there are so many Ghoulies and Diseased still ready to fight. Another one comes charging their way and she has to move quickly to swing down one of the axes fast and purposeful. The tricky part is making sure nothing gets in her mouth. The wound on Sabrina’s arm makes her worry but at least it’s bandaged up.

 

Blood squirts everywhere as the metal comes down on the vein, a slow sluggish oozing that coats her weapon in tar. It makes her sick to her stomach watching the head roll back into the crowd. Sabrina kicks the body aside to give them more room to move. Everywhere she turns there's more and more corpses littering the ground. It feels so strange to imagine what Riverdale might look like in the aftermath of all this chaos, if people will even be able to walk the streets without choking on the stench of rot.

 

“Jacket!” Cheryl shouts from above, throwing off her own cherry red leather and sending it down before them. “Cover it up or risk becoming one of the undead trove attempting to overturn our home.”

 

For once, Sabrina doesn’t argue with a command from someone else, slipping on the jacket with ease. It hangs a little too tight on her shoulders but at least it does well to hide the wound on her shoulder. Betty’s grateful for the generosity. She tries to imagine having to spin around and shoot her newest friend right between the eyes, a strange hallowing echo of the fate her sister met.

 

Just when there looks to be a moment of respite and the horde has quelled in numbers enough to see how many Serpents might still be standing, she hears Cheryl gasp. “They’re here.”

 

There is no time to ask who they might be. She sees the woman first, blonde, bandages falling off the empty cavern of her eye socket, wearing nothing but studded leather and feral rage. There’s blood on her hands, blood in her hair, blood splattering every inch of her skin. Betty can’t make out much of her other than the basics but a chill runs down her spine the closer she dares to step.

 

And then, from the forest, more and more appear. Ghoulies like the ones they’d fought but every single one of them is holding tight to a chain or thick rope. She follows down to the end of it, where she sees Diseased chained to their masters. But these are not the normal beasts she’s fought and slaughtered in the past. They look glassy-eyed and rotten all the same, but she finds flecks of forgotten humanity in their eyes that harken back to how Jason appeared mid-transformation. There’s a desperation and a hunger so intense it frightens her.

 

The one on the end of the leader’s rope is the closest and she can better appraise the jaundiced and cracked skin stretched over his skeleton frame. He’s got unruly black hair that falls over his eyes. But maybe he isn’t a he anymore, maybe he’s become an  _ it _ . Still, she feels wrong when he looks nearly normal until he curls back his lips in a snarl to expose his receding gum lines and throws himself forward. The cord snaps and hurls his body back.

 

“Oh my god, is that Malachi?” she hears someone mutter, but she’s not quite sure which direction it comes from, who is daring to speak when a silence so thick has settled over them all while everyone waits in anxious anticipation.

 

She hears the slide of an arrow, cocked and ready, but before it can sail through the horizon, Jughead moves from where he was standing with a raised hand, “Hold.”

 

This is the first Betty has gotten to see of him since she took her place on the defensive lines. There’s a cut on his forehead, cauterized now she’s sure, but the blood still streaks through the dirt on his face. He looks bruised and in pain but he holds himself so strongly in the face of this woman that her heart beats so loudly she can hardly hear above the symphony in her veins.

 

His gun is still out but held at ease by his side as he moves towards the fence, where the woman stands just barely on the other side. It’s caved in some places, where body upon body had been thrown to send it down. She is impressed to see that it’s still holding even if there will have to be major repairs once the sun has risen again. If they make it that long.

 

_ Not if, Betty,  _ she reminds herself,  _ only when. _

 

If she can’t hold onto the promise of tomorrow then there is no point in holding out for this fight. She clings onto the thoughts of a world where Wyatt can play with his friends without fear and there is no more quiet whispering about when the Ghoulies might next attack. There has to be something beyond tonight of there is no reason for it to even exist.

 

“What do you want, Penny?” Jughead is cautious as he moves forward towards her barely visible in the flickering fluorescent lights and the crackle of fires that have been started. “Are you ready to call a truce and leave Riverdale alone?”

 

The woman cackles, throwing her head back. All eyes are on her and she seems to relish in the attention. “Not a chance. I just came to give you one last opportunity to call it quits. If you behave and come alone maybe we’ll be willing to let everyone else have a running start away from here before we burn the whole thing to the ground like we did with Greendale. Amazing to watch a bunch of cowards scatter like that.”

 

“Shut your mouth Penny!” Sabrina fumes beside her, stepping forward. Betty reaches out to try and hold her back, to gain control over this situation at all, but with every goading remark, she can feel her friend losing her cool.

 

“Oh? Is the little Witch girl back there? How’d you like to come face me one on one. I really enjoyed watching my little pet here rip your boyfriends face off and eat it for dinner. I’ve still got his jacket if you want it? I’ll let you wear it to dinner tonight. Small stipulation, you’d be the main course. But hey, at least you can go to heaven and beg Mr. Kinkle’s forgiveness for letting him die protecting you.”

 

“I didn’t let him die! I would do anything to protect him but he got in the way. He was being selfless and good, all of those things you don’t know shit about, you monster.”

 

There are tears clinging tightly to Sabrina’s bottom lashes, daring to spill forth and stain her cheeks. Betty holds her tighter, closer, trying desperately to ground her. “Don’t listen to her. She’s doing this on purpose. You need to stay here and fight with us, not risk it all on a suicide mission out there.”

 

“Oh? And who are you Blondie? I’m not sure I’ve seen your face before,” Penny takes another step towards the gate.

 

A shot rings in the air: a warning right over Penny’s shoulder. Jughead’s gun is smoking as he glares daggers. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t even think about breathing the same air she does.”

 

“Oh?” Her face lights up in demented glee. “Is she yours then, Jones? I can’t wait to play. Are you hungry for City girls, Malachi?” She asks down to her pet, teasing at the edge of his hair, pulling it back so hard Betty can hear the tear in his scalp. “I bet you are.”

 

The next shot doesn’t miss, piercing right through the palm of her hand. The rope drops and Malachi springs forward. Immediately the world erupts into chaos again as she hears Penny scream, “Wrong decision, lover boy. Ghoulies, how about we have some fun and set fire to good old Riverdale. I’d like to see it burn brighter than even Greendale did.”

 

And just like that, they are all consumed. The remaining few Ghoulies charge, but with them come the new diseased -ravenous, angry, gnawing at the bone for something to eat. There’s bodies littered around which offer minor distractions but it’s just as grotesque to see their teeth sink into the still-warm flesh of a fallen foe as it is to see them gnashing as they scale the fence and push towards them.

 

Witches and Serpents charge as renewed chaos overtakes the town of Riverdale. People are screaming, shouting, as a volley of arrows comes down from overhead. There’s a few pits from Archie’s construction left and Betty can hear the distinctive squish and wail of someone being skewered. A few people behind them throw makeshift spears to keep the charge from getting too close. Beside her, she can feel Sabrina shaking, wanting nothing more than to charge full force into the fight after all the taunting words Penny had thrown her way.

 

“Sabrina don’t,” Betty warns. “She was just trying to get a rise out of you so you’d do something stupid. You need to stay right here. I need you to stay right here. And so do the other archers. I can’t protect them by myself, you know that.”

 

“I know. I know but God that bitch really knows how to crawl under your skin. She doesn't know anything about Harvey. Not a damn thing.”

 

She softens, offering her friend an earnest nod. “Of course, she doesn’t. You know him and what he did for you. He was a good man, I’m sure of it, and I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

 

“Yeah. Me too. I think he probably would have liked you.”

 

There’s no more time for talking then, as Betty hears someone shout from her left, as the wooden rail on the house the archers have taken place starts to rattle. One of the new and improved Diseased is attempting to climb up and grab onto someone’s ankles. The girl kicks hard and sends it sprawling backward but it’s only a matter of seconds before it launches back up with renewed anger.

 

Betty pulls out her axe again and hurls it forward with all her body weight. There’s a crack followed by a sickening thud as brain matter erupts from the wound she has just made in it’s head. It sinks to the ground with an open mouth and hollow yellow eyes. She runs over quickly to retrieve her weapon, but seeing one so up close gives her pause.

 

This creature acts as a mockery of humanity, contorted and stretched into a grotesque reflection of all the rottenness that has consumed the City, a place that was supposed to be a haven, but instead produced nothing but more threats and danger to the people it wanted to save. She can see the hubris of the scientist etched into this man’s face. He seems so relaxed now and if it weren’t for the uncanny thinness and the deformation of his mouth, she would almost want to call him human. She wonders, briefly, what kind of life he had before this -- if he was one of the people she saw trying to flee from the City.

 

And then it hits her like a ton of bricks where this is an echo of familiarity. He is the man who had sat behind her on the bus beside the woman who must have been his wife. Betty feels sick all over again, knowing she left him for dead and instead he was turned into a monster. Her fists curl in tight until she can feel the bite of her nails. One, two, three breaths in and out and she’s able to shake it away, to focus on the task at hand. This man is dead now and hopefully, it brought him at least a little peace knowing his body isn’t running rampant at the behest of a gang of monsters now.

 

“Thank you,” the young woman says, visibly shaken by the roughness, but holding her own as best she can.

 

Betty nods and withdrawals her axe from the Diseased's skull, turning away as quickly as she can to resume her position beside Sabrina. She watches her friend dispatch another with a well-aimed shot between the eyes. It rings out and scatters a few of the normal monsters. They lumber away in fear -- easy pickings for the archers above. 

 

There’s blood everywhere and it’s hard to tell who it all belongs to. She does a quick assessment of both of them and is relieved that the only wound so far is the one she had already taken care of on Sabrina’s shoulder. There are other people that could use her help, but Jughead promised there would be a few other Witches acting as field medics for tonight, to keep it from being a complete and utter blood bath. At least, that’s their goal. Penny has other plans for tonight, obviously.

 

There’s so many people. So many bodies. So many sounds and cries and shouts of agony and triumph that it’s hard to tell what’s going on out there on the front lines. She’s about to turn and ask Cheryl if she can give them an update when she sees Ethel come sprinting out of nowhere. There is only a moment to process what’s happening as she brandishes a large kitchen knife at a few of the Diseased that have begun making their way back towards the group.

 

“Ethel, no!” Betty hears Cheryl echo her words but there isn’t much to be done.

 

“For Ben!” Ethel cries, throwing herself towards the group.

 

She manages to get a few cuts in, scrapes and wounds that will enrage but hopefully slow the monsters down. One of them even loses an arm as it falls lamely to the ground. Betty and Sabrina both run towards her as Cheryl shoots as quickly as she can into the group, but it’s hard to aim when everyone is flailing. She screams in frustration as only two are downed by her shots. Sabrina finishes off another one, waving her arms to distract the last, as Betty runs to find Ethel.

 

But it’s too late. The ground is painted blood, pooling like a halo around her golden hair. There’s teeth marks all over her arms, but the fatal wound is on her neck, where claws got the better of flailing desperation and a Diseased got the meal they were so desperately after. Her eyes are staring up towards the pitch black sky empty now, but there’s a smile on her lips. 

 

Betty has to turn and run from it. There’s nothing she can do for Ethel now except keep the other monsters off of her long enough that she can be burned like the rest of the heroes from tonight. Someone screams again but she realizes the sound is coming from her mouth. 

 

Sabrina runs to her, surprised. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did one of them get you?” She’s panicked, frantically assessing Betty for even the slightest sign of damage.

 

“I’m fine,” she tries to calm herself, to realign the thoughts in her head into something more coherent as every body she’s seen flashes before her eyes. Her sister. Jason. Sweet Pea. Now Ethel. How big is the pyre going to be tonight? How long will the smell linger in the air as the people try to move on with their lives? With Riverdale always reek of the dead? “What if we all die here tonight? What if there’s no reason to be fighting if it’s just body after body? We win tonight but what happens then when there’s no one left standing to protect Riverdale?”

 

“You can’t think like that. Stand up, Betty! We’re fighting tonight for a reason and it’s an important one. Greendale is gone and this is all we can fight for now. This is all that’s left and you can’t just break now. We’re going to win. I can feel it. But you have to stand up and keep fighting first.” 

 

The ground feels cold under her touch as gravel digs into her thighs through the fabric of her jeans. The pain helps to ground her even for a moment as she lets out a shaky breath.

 

“I’m sorry,” Betty says softly. “I’m sorry, I just….I saw Ethel bleeding and it got the better of me. I’m fine now.”

 

“Are you sure? I can set up with Cheryl on the house if it’ll be better for you? This isn’t a pity move, we need people in their best condition, and you screaming is only going to attract Jughead’s attention. I can tell you now he’ll be pissed if anything happens to you, even if it’s psychological.”

 

But she’s insistent, desperate to prove she belongs out here fighting for her home just like everyone else, that she is not part of this cyclical problem and will be one of the city folk to break it. “I’m okay. I need to be okay. If I’m going to be a Serpent I have to be okay with seeing things like this, with picking myself back up.”

 

“Okay. I trust you. But if it happens again, then I’m pulling you out no questions asked. You need to be focused.”

 

“Focused. I am focused. I promise.”

 

“Good. Because you’ve got wicked good aim and I need you on my side.”

 

“Ladies!” Cheryl shouts, annoyed, “Maybe we should turn our eyes back to the battle before we deal with whatever melodrama is occurring over there. I’d like us to be able to focus on what’s happening.”

 

Betty laughs, somehow relieved and grounded by the sound of her sister-in-law’s voice. It’s a reminder of the strength that lies in each of them tonight -a reminder of how important this battle is. No matter how many there are that fall, there are people still around, camped in houses and waiting for daybreak, that need her strength as much as she needs Cheryl’s. With Sabrina’s help, she stands again.

 

There’s no argument from either of them as they turn back to the fray. The fight goes on for hours, well into the night when the stars in the sky might look beautiful if it weren’t for the bloodstained gravel beneath their feet. With every minute that ticks by the earth gets harder to walk on, the gravel gets soggier and her boots squish with uncomfortable wetness that she knows means they’ll have to go into the fire like everything else.

 

Body after body falls until she can see finally see the people standing. Once it’s obvious who is winning, a few of the Ghoulies turn tail and run as quickly as they can. Some of them manage to disappear back into the woods, dodging arrows and thrown knives. She sees Hilda and Zelda disappear into the shadows and she doubts any of the remaining Ghoulies will be around or willing to regroup for another attack.

 

It’s enough for her to feel comfortable moving through the crowd with Sabrina by her side. They move slow, to make sure that there’s no one hiding and ready for a surprise attack. There’s a few single fights still occurring but slowly the Ghoulies are being chased away and the Diseased corpses litter the ground.

 

Jughead is standing above Penny, bruised and bloody, but triumphant. Betty watches with a relieved smile enraptured with every moment he makes. The woman is tied to the fence with spare rope and no matter how desperately she moves or wiggles there is no escape. She is trapped to face the consequences of her actions.

 

“Exile isn’t good enough!” She hears Fangs shout the closer she gets. It’s a relief to hear his voice and see him standing beside Toni, to know that they’re alive, that they’re safe and still on solid ground.

 

Both of them look a little worse for the wear. Toni’s head is bleeding badly and it looks like Fangs had a hasty amputation done to his finger. There’s one Serpent who’s now missing an arm and it looks like there’s a Witch two people are desperately trying to stop the bleeding on a leg. She doesn’t know if either of them will make it past quarantine tonight but she hopes that they will.

 

Stepping through the bodies makes her heart weary and her eyes sting as she fights back tears. Of course, there are people she doesn’t recognize, monsters disguised as men who trained creatures of hunger to do their bidding. Even though their deaths came out of necessity, she still feels sadness at the passing and wonders what a world where the status quo wasn’t “kill or be killed” might be like.

 

It’s worse to see people she recognizes, as those who aren’t too exhausted to move start to drag bodies into piles. There’s Hog Eye and Tall Boy lying motionless near the bottom of one group, weapons still held tight in their hands, fighting until the very last breath. But her gaze can’t linger for long or she feels a tightness in her stomach that’s already hard to fight against as the rotten odor of the Diseased infiltrates her senses.

 

“We can’t kill her,” someone else says, “That would make us as bad as she is.”

 

“She tried to kill all of us. We killed all of her group!” Toni protests, eyebrows shooting up into her hairline in disbelief. “And you want us to just let her walk free. Fat fucking chance. Jughead if you don’t run her through I’ll do it myself and you can’t fucking stop me.”

 

He waves his hands to get them all to quiet, taking a deep and unsteady breath, before moving towards her. He’s favoring his right side more than his left and Betty can see now that there’s blood on his pants from where a deep gash stretches along his calf. It doesn’t look infected and someone has promptly dressed the wound. No one seems alarmed so she feels at ease knowing it was a man-made problem.

 

“Can you all let me think for a second? For fuck’s sake, we’re not rabid animals.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tossing his old hat to the side. It’s covered in holes and blood and Betty wonders how much washing she’ll have to do to make it clean for him. It’s the least she can do after the hell they’ve both walked through tonight. “Penny, before I do anything, I’m going to give you one sentence to explain why the hell you did what you did. And then you’re going to explain to me how you managed to wrangle up a new version of the Diseased and transport them to the middle of fucking nowhere.”

 

She laughs right in his face, spitting blood on his boots. “Fat chance, Jones. You think I give a shit? You might have won, but we both know you’re fighting a losing battle living out here in the boonies. The City’s in chaos and without it backing you up you’re doomed to fail just like everyone else.”

 

Fangs lunges forward, punching her so hard in the stomach her mouth starts to leak and Betty can hear the crunch of bone. Toni pulls him back but he’s already screaming. “You fucking killed him! You killed Sweet Pea because you’re insane. You’re a monster!”

 

“Go to hell. I’m not sorry I killed your boyfriend. I’m not sorry I killed any of them. We’re all going to die, might as well have a little fun with it.”

 

“You’re seriously just going to sit there and not saying anything. Just wallow and let us kill you? What’s the point Penny?” She can tell Jughead is frustrated, nearing his wits end with it all. She wants to reach out and touch him but she knows that would be foolish at this point.

 

“Chaos, little Jones, what better a reason?”

 

His fists clench tight and he takes a deep breath. “You have one more chance. Tell me. Now.”

 

“I’d rather not,” she smiles gently. “Malachi! Get him!”

 

From nowhere, the feral creature appears, bounding forward towards them, through the dead bodies and the crowd clustered around the scene to observe Penny’s makeshift trial. Betty screams but maybe someone else does too. It might be Toni who lunges forward, stumbling as she tries to knock Jughead out of the way. Malachi is bounding right towards him with the uncanny speed of a modified Diseased and she feels entirely powerless to stop it as she watches the slow motion train crash in front of her eyes.

 

There’s a sickening crash, a slush, the familiar sound of cracking skin as razor-sharp teeth sink in. Betty has to shut her eyes tight but the wailing doesn’t stop until her voice cracks. But then she hears Jughead shout, not in pain, but in fear. Surprise. 

 

“Dad, no!”

 

Her eyes fly open and she sees FP Jones standing there, looking sick as he did the day before, with his arm outstretched. Malachi’s teeth have slid in deep and she knows by the hollow look in his eyes it’s as good as too late to fight the infection with a simple amputation. Maybe he’s been fighting the whole night, gaunt and jaundiced and thinner than he has any right to be. Flesh is ripped apart as Malachi is flung to the ground.

 

Blood. Blood everywhere. Painting the world in red again. It’s blood that coat’s Jughead’s shirt as he clings to his father’s collapsing form, saying his name over and over again, like it’s a prayer that might one day be answered.

 

“No. No no no. You idiot. Dad, what the hell were you thinking?”

 

“I was thinking I might as well be useful for something tonight.” He coughs and there’s blood splatters now, as it starts to pool and congeal.

 

Betty feels the tears in her eyes, the kind that echo Jughead’s, waterfalls of misery that splash down on the cotton flannel of FP’s shirt and turn red to pink. Sabrina moves quicker than anyone else, pulling out her gun and shooting once to down Malachi’s contorted form, then spinning on a dime and firing again. It hits Penny right between the eyes. The mirth is gone from her eyes as her whole body slumps forward.

 

Serpents and Witches alike mull around to watch their leader die, to watch the blood seep from his arm and the life flicker from his eyes. Jughead clutches to him in desperation.

 

“Dad, no. Please. No. Not yet. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

 

“Of course you do,” he smiles up at him, love and admiration, the kind of respect anyone would want to earn. “You’ve been doing it for years without me around. Only difference is you might be able to visit me more if I’m scattered than hidden in some little shack in the woods.” He groans, pained, and his veins bulge and shiver. The virus is spreading, but she doesn’t know if bleeding out will kill him first.

 

“Jughead,” Toni says softly. It’s obvious by the pain in her voice that she has the same idea Betty does. There’s no telling how fast acting the transformation might be with one of these new Diseased. “It’s your call but...”

 

“I know!” he snaps, but then softer. “I know. Please just….Give me a minute.”

 

They back up as a sign of respect, watching as Jughead shakily pulls out his gun. Betty wants to turn away, to hide and pretend like this is not the world they must exist in, but if she turns from him now, she will never forgive herself. She can feel it, every single beating heart surrounding him reaching out to give him the strength he needs. “I love you, Dad.”

 

“I love you too, son.” His voice is weak and he can hardly keep his eyes open, but he uses his good arm to pull hard on the necklace -- the same one that matches what Alice had given Betty when she’d run from the City -- “Take this. Please. I gave it to Alice so she knew I would always protect her and you...I want you to know that too. No matter what even when I’m gone, son, I’ll be here protecting you. So hold…. hold tight. Hold tight and promise me you’ll smile again soon.” He’s dead weight in Jughead’s arms after that as he starts to twitch.

 

“Jug I can--”

 

He cuts Toni off quick, shaking his head. “No. No, it has to be me. Goodbye, Dad.”

 

And then one final gunshot shatters the earth.

 

FP Jones collapses to the ground and Jughead’s cries pierce the heavy dusk air. Betty rushes towards him, dropping to her knees amidst the blood to hold him as tight as she can. He shakes with pain, agonizing shouts turning to quiet sobs as he clings tightly to her, desperate for the warmth her body offers his. Toni and Fangs move quickly to clean up the body, draping it in a spare cloth to offer him respect.

 

Sabrina takes count of everyone still in attendance and designates anyone who can to help her identify and number the bodies before prepping the funeral pyres. Every Witch or Serpent will be scattered with honor and the Ghoulies can be buried in a ditch where they belong.

 

She can hear it now, a gentle buzz in the air, birds chirping as they flitter up towards the trees. Something has shifted just so slightly with the world even when it feels like at any moment the subtlest of happiness might collapse. Her boyfriend is heavy in her arms and she can feel the wetness on her shirt from his tears. She runs a hand gently through his curls in hopes of offering him some soothing comfort. She knows what it’s like to make the hardest decision in the whole world, to look at the body of a loved one and know it was done by your hand.

 

There’s a warmth on her skin now as the sun peaks over the horizon to caress the new morning. Oranges and purples and blues paint the skyline as a heavenly glow erupts from the clouds, chasing away the stars and the moon. Betty turns her gaze upwards, cupping Jughead’s cheeks to help turn him with her.

 

“Look, Juggie. The sun is rising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 10: Sunrise


	10. Epilogue: Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave all my sappy remarks to the end of the chapter. I just want to say thank you all for sticking with me despite how long it's taken for the update. I'm incredibly sorry <3 I hope you can enjoy this chapter never the less.

Three Years Later….

 

It isn’t the chirping of the birds that wakes her up, or the way the sun peeks through the slots in the boarded-up windows to paint their bedroom that makes Betty wake up, but the gentle clattering of pans from downstairs. The sound makes her laugh even as she squints and takes a look around the small room in search of her clothes. They’re scattered from the night before. There’s two of his socks at two opposite ends of the room and she doesn’t have the slightest idea where her underwear are. Maybe that’s what happens when you jump your husband after your border rounds.

 

There’s a large broken slab of glass leaned against the wall, next to a broken old dresser. Both were salvaged from the Greendale wreckage a few years ago. After the Ghoulies had gone, they had gathered up a few troops and went to dig through the wreckage, put to rest any bodies left stumbling around without a brain to inhabit them. She will never forget the way Sabrina cried, crumbled to her knees, as she clutched the tattered remains of Harvey’s Witches jacket. It’s an image, like so many, that is burned into the very folds of her brain.

 

In the makeshift mirror, she traces along the black ink on her thigh. The Serpent tattoo she had insisted on getting after the war had been won. Well, not the war against the Diseased, but the smaller one that Penny had thrown on their doorsteps. It’s still beautiful to her, the way the rich color moves along her pale flesh.

 

They may have survived the worst of it, but the daily life of Riverdale has not changed much since FP Jones sacrificed himself for his son and Penny Peabody was finally put down like the rabid dog she was. The patrols are still the same, though now there’s other jackets in the mix. Greendale was ruined, but on the outskirts of town, in the edges that were never dared to be occupied because they sat too close to the fence, many of the Witches have now taken up residence. Sabrina herself has a cabin just past the wall, the remnants of FP’s home. Jughead never admits it, but he hates how far away she is from them. They’ve gotten into arguments about it before but she always waves him off and promises she’s a big girl who can handle herself.

 

Nowadays, it feels strange to think of a world in which Sabrina wasn’t part of their lives. Her chaotic energy brings light despite the pain that is so evident in her eyes. When she can manage it, Betty sneaks past the fence and the two have tea together, weeding the little garden that’s started to blossom there. Sometimes they stay silent, but most days they talk about the world.

 

_ “I can’t believe you married him,” Sabrina shakes her head as she crushes a few leaves inside of a mortar and pestle she’d fashioned out of smooth river rocks. “I mean, when I’m right here in front of you, clearly the better option.” _

 

_ Betty laughs and rearranges the bundle of wildflowers she’s planning on bringing over to Veronica’s later today. She’s been doing the best she can, keeping up with the ever-growing economy jam production, chasing her son, and handling whatever mayoral duties that need her attention, all while her stomach is swollen and ready to pop. “Well, you didn’t let me know you were interested until we’d already done the ceremony. You were there, remember?” _

 

_ “Pft, details, Betty, details.” _

 

_ They sit in silence for a little longer, cutting thin strips of fabric while she fiddles with an old mason jar she’s turned into a makeshift vase. There’s a quiet hum in the air today. “Sabrina, do you ever think about being with someone else?” _

 

_ Apparently surprised, the girl across from her sits up a little straighter, hands stilling on the stain she’s currently trying to scrub out of her shirt. It’s blood. It’s always blood. Although these days there’s less blood than there was before, there is still plenty of it. The Ghoulies are gone but the Diseased remain, shambling around on the outskirts of town. Occasionally they’re forced to combat one of the newer kinds, the stronger and faster ones. It’s part of Serpent training now, to be equipped to handle them. _

 

_ “I don’t know,” Sabrina says finally. “Harvey was the love of my life. But it would be a disservice to him not to keep living my life. He’d hate that for me. I’m not sure if romance is included in that though. Maybe I’ll just keep being the hermit aunt in the woods like my aunts were.” _

 

_ “You’ll find someone one day, ‘Brina. Someone that loves you as much as you deserve to be loved.” _

 

_ She smiled, reaching out to squeeze Betty’s hand. “Jughead’s making you too soft for your own good. Now, stop talking about silly things and help me focus.” _

 

There are other changes in Betty’s body too, subtle ones that escape even her watchful eye sometimes. She’s not as thin as she was when she first stumbled her way into Riverdale. No one is. The City trade opened enough to increase their food supplies and with the Witches helping them, agriculture has been blossoming. There are more bodies to watch the farms at night. There’s more bodies to do everything. The weight of the Serpents has lessened somewhat and because of it, Riverdale thrives.

 

Or, at least, thrives as best it can given the circumstances. There are still nights she has to close her eyes tight and pray that they make it to sunrise. There are nights when she worries if Jughead is going to come home and join her by the fire. But then he walks through the door and collapses into their tight embrace as they chase their reminder that they are here, they are alive, despite it all, in the glow of the fire.

 

She remembers the franticness from the night before and watches in the looking glass as a blush touches her cheeks, hands traveling down the smooth planes of her belly and down to her thighs. They’re still sore in the best of ways. When Betty takes a step, it’s like jelly in her veins and she can’t help but giggle to herself.

 

When the door opens and there’s Jughead, standing so handsome in the early morning light, and  a warmth blossoms in her chest so intense it’s almost difficult to think straight. He pulls her close, touching the same places she had been just moments before. But he’s bigger and more encompassing, especially as he traces along the curve of the Serpent head. The hours of pain she endured just to be marked as one of them was well worth it in her eyes.

 

“How did you sleep?” He asked softly as he pressed a kiss to her lips.

 

Betty smiled into the touch. “Like the dead.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” he teased, “Where we’re from the dead hardly ever sleep.”

 

“Ha ha. You’re so funny. Maybe once things calm down in the City, you’ll be able to move in and start your own radio comedy show.”

 

“And share my voice with thousands of people who aren’t my wife? Fat chance.”

 

Today marked an important day for everyone. The City had been open for trade for some time, but there were strict limitations on people’s travel. Entering or exiting involved countless permits that even Veronica couldn’t pull enough strings to get. It was part of their program dedicated to eradicating the new, more powerful Diseased. Police prowled the streets, attempting to cripple the growing infection. Just this month it had finally been decreed that enough had been beaten back into the sewers that they would finally allow passage from beyond their walls.

 

The first bus was set to arrive today and all of Riverdale was anxious with worry. The last bus that had made its way to them had ended in disaster, with Betty being the lone survivor of what they later discovered to be a bloodbath. Many of the Serpents were busy today, setting up the checks that both Veronica and Jughead had insisted be maintained for any new arrivals.

 

Each of them would be checked for any wounds or symptoms of Disease before even being allowed to step foot inside of Riverdale. Despite the City’s insistence that they had doubled their cure efforts and their pride in how “quickly” they had “dealt with their unfortunate situation” there needed to be a plan in place to keep their people as safe as possible.

 

Betty was anxious about the arrival, not in the same way that many of her friends and family were. Veronica had been running around these last few days (or maybe the better term was waddling) in a state of frenzied panic. Those from Greendale were protesting even a small arrival of visitors, gripped with fear, and Sabrina was trying desperately to calm them down while Jughead worked to prepare the new Serpent initiates on the best way to handle visitor protocols.

 

“Are you nervous?” Jughead’s voice broke her out of her thoughts and, with some hesitation, she nodded. His brow furrowed and he pulled her close. “Me too. But what are you nervous about?”

 

“My family. I haven’t heard from them and maybe I keep thinking that if I’m lucky enough Chic and my mom will walk off the bus and pull me close, but then I remind myself I can’t think like that. There’s no proof they’re alive and I doubt there ever will be. I can’t exist in some fantasy where my wildest hopes come true. They’re probably dead.”

 

It’s taken her time to come to terms with that reality. She doubts that information would be particularly easy to pull out of the City Council, especially when she has so thoroughly assimilated into Riverdale life. There had been a letter sent months ago, inviting her back into the City walls, but her rejection had come swiftly even at the cost of seeing her mother and brother again. This was her home now. This beautiful chaos was the only place she knew to be happiness.

 

_ The letter had arrived when she least expected it. It seemed so strange that letters would even make it all the way out here, but Kevin had come to her with the carefully folded envelope, somehow so clean and pristine, pressing it into the palms of her hands with a delicate sigh. _

 

_ Even before she opened it with shaky hands, Betty knew what the contents would be. The letter, written and signed by the Director of the Council himself, Waldo Weatherbee, was her invitation to return home. It had been so jarring that for three days she simply picked up the letter and reread it every night. It wasn’t until Jughead found it amongst her folded bits of quilting fabric that they even spoke about it. _

 

_ She watched his heart stop as he scanned the words, grip tightening, crumpling the paper under a steady grip. Neither of them spoke for what felt like eons before he finally asked, with such a small voice it frightened her, “What are you going to do?” _

 

_ And just like that, she knew her answer. Betty got down before him, taking the paper from his hands and tossing it to the side, and cupped his cheeks in her hands. _

 

_ With a smile, she answered, “I’m going to stay, you idiot, because that’s not my home anymore. My home is here, with you.” _

 

“Don’t think like that. Maybe they are, or maybe they aren’t, but today we’re supposed to be celebrating, right? Free trade finally. Even if it involves people coming to visit.”

 

_ Visit _ being the keyword, because both Veronica and Jughead have made it clear they would not be taking any more refugees for the time being. The City could deal with their people unless the circumstances were dire. It had been three years and they were still working on assimilating the Greendale residence into their home. The last thing anyone needed was to deal with a third conflicting voice to the already loud cacophony. 

 

Betty herself is frightened of what newcomers might bring. Despite how she had been one not very long ago, it is difficult to not imagine all the terrible plights that might be brought with them. Still, she trusted her family. The Serpents. The Witches. The people of Riverdale. They would all keep each other safe like they had been in the aftermath of the Ghoulie raid.

 

“I guess you’re right. We’re supposed to be celebrating that the City feels like it’s done enough to eradicate the problem that we can be a little less terrified at night.”

 

She runs her hands along the planes of his chest, going forward on the tips of her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. Jughead smiles against her lips. “A little less terrified. Sure if that’s what they want us to believe. Now stop kissing me before I drag you back to bed. We’ll never get anything done today.”

 

“And what, exactly, do we have to get done that’s so important?” She teases.

 

“Well, for one, you little Vixen, we have to go to the Market. We’re out of almost everything except for some of the preservatives we’ve been stocking up on. Besides, you know I have to be there when the City bus comes in. Otherwise, Veronica will come here herself and skin me alive. Hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman scorned. Isn’t that what Sister Woodhouse says?”

 

“Alright, alright. I’ll get ready and then we’ll be on our way. I made a list of things we need. Oh, and I finished a few of my blankets. Maybe we could trade them? I know it’s going to start getting colder soon and I’ll have to make more, but hopefully, this will help so I’m not pressed near the end for time again.”

 

When the first winter had come with Greendale’s inhabitants stuffed within the confines of Riverdale, Betty had worked tirelessly to ensure that not a single person was left without clothes. Now that Ethel was gone, it was her and a few other women and men who had to take up the mantle. There were a few adept seamstresses from Greendale, which was good since Betty’s straight-lined seams were lacking, but no would could make a quilt as quickly as she could. Jughead had even sat beside her and learned to make a few blankets. They weren’t very good at first, but with practice, he was becoming rather adept at it. There was something serene about sitting by his side as they worked together to ensure the safety of their home while the fire crackled close by.

 

“That sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready.” She jumped into the air when his hand came down on her ass, a wicked grin on his face as he exited the room.

 

Betty quickly grabs an outfit from the pile of clean clothes. Just a few days ago she’d been able to go out to the river and wash their things. It’s nice to smell the cleanness, to press the warmth of the sun-dried sweater against her skin. It is, however, much less nice when she pulls it over her head and realizes that a small stretch of skin was exposed just above her waistline.

 

Frowning, she spins in the shattered glass, trying to pull down the edges. Her things must have shrunk when they’d been laid out to dry. There’s never really any knowing, only prayers, when it comes to how well a garment will keep.

 

With a frustrated sigh, Betty tosses the sweater off and back into the pile, picking up a more comfortable sundress she hasn’t had much of an opportunity to wear. Cheryl had purchased it from the City once trade routes had opened, an early birthday present that Betty had appreciated so much it had moved her to tears. Today seems as good a day as any.

 

Despite how far removed from the City atmosphere she is, the teachings from her mother are still stuck with her. Today she’s meeting new people as a representation of what Riverdale is. She is the Serpent’s leader, the Mayor’s best friend, and she should put her best foot forward. A few little ladybugs dancing on white linen should certainly do that well. It’s a little tight at the chest which really shouldn’t be a surprise given it was Cheryl who picked it out. No doubt part of her desperate attempts to get Betty to spend more time “in bed” with her husband.

 

Finally ready, she descends down the stairs. Jughead is hunched near the pantry with a few baskets beneath him. One of them is filled with blankets and the other contains a few jars that he is willing to part with from their massive collection. His face is scrunched up in displeasure and seeing him gives her such a bursting joyous feeling in her heart that Betty can’t help but sinks to her knees beside him so she can properly press a kiss to his lips. He’s surprised by the action but after a moment sinks into her touch.

 

“What was that about?” he hums, tongue chasing after the sweet flavor of her lips.

 

“Because I love you and you’re the best man I’ve ever met. I’m so lucky that it was you who took me home that night.” His expression shifts sadly, no doubt an echo of her own as Betty thinks on the man who gave so much to protect them. She traces a finger across his knuckles, hoping they aren’t too calloused that he can’t feel the gentle sweep of them. “We should go visit his grave sometime soon, don’t you think?”

 

It isn’t common for Serpents to bury their dead. And they hadn’t with FP either. Just like Sweet Pea and all the others that have fallen, his ashes were scattered and his things burnt to signify his glory. On the mantle of the Wyrm is a moniker for each of them, as good as a gravestone, where loved ones can visit.

 

“Alright. We should. Just not today. We’re already running late. If you carry the blankets, I’ll carry the mason jars?”

 

Betty nods, picking up the basket and straightening her dress as she stands. “Did you save any of the raspberry ones for me? I know you hate them but there’s only so much apple spice I can take!”

 

“When did you start liking the raspberry ones? You were always trying to fight me for the last jar of maple before.”

 

“Sometimes your taste buds just change, Jug. Or maybe I’m just being a good wife.”

 

They tease each other on the long walk to the Market. They could have any pick of homes given Jughead is the official Serpent King, but there’s something so quaint about the little place she first found solace in and they are both loathe to give up all the memories that are held there. In another home, she doubts she would experience the tender warmth that blossoms when she sits near the hearth and recalls some of the tender memories where his arms were wrapped so impossibly tight around her, or the desperation of their wedding night when she had begged to feel him again and again until there was nothing else that either of them could give to each other and their hearts were laid bare on the rug.

 

At the Market the real bartering begins. The people of Greendale have set up little shops and stalls and they’re much more ruthless when it comes to the kind of deals they can get. Hilda and Zelda have set up a place filled with odds and ends they have collected on their many strange exhibitions outside the gates and they are absolutely ruthless when it comes to haggling.

 

Zelda and Jughead are currently in an argument about how many blankets she should have the right to take from him for a few properly made dog treats. “He can just eat dirt, Zelda; you aren’t giving us anything that fancy,” he tries.

 

“Oh? Then why do you want them so bad? I said what I said and if I start giving you favoritism Sabrina will be up in arms about how much I charged her for oils last week.”

 

Betty dares to explore the other trinkets, so beautiful and shiny, glittering in the morning light. She sees a hair comb that makes her think of her mother and feels a tightness in her chest that constricts so painfully she has to blink tears away. But then, of course, nothing can compare to the pain when she sees a little doll tucked underneath a basket of pillows. She crouches down to pick up the little thing, pulling strands of his blonde yarn hair. 

 

It’s in much better shape than she had expected. The button eyes are only coming off in one place, an easy fix as long as she can manage to find some unused thread. Her little black shoes are scuffed and her dress needs washing, but overall the doll looks well kept, beautiful even. It reminds her of the ones she used to make with Polly.

 

“How much is she?” Betty says softly, looking up at Hilda with wide eyes. Surely, the expense will by high for such a well maintained little toy, but to her surprise, Hilda puts a finger to her lips and pushes the doll into her arms. “Oh no. I couldn’t just…”

 

“Couldn’t just what? All I see is that you found a little doll on the street and decided to take it home to be mended.”

 

She offers the older woman a warm hug and a quick embrace. “Thank you. So much.”

 

“You really should stop thanking me for nothing, dear. Now, go rescue your husband before him and Zelda get into a sparring match in the middle of the Market. We can’t have him being turned into a toad in the middle of the day, can we?” She winks and Betty wants to ask what she means by that but she’s already being shooed off.

 

Jughead’s full of pride as he tucks the dog treats into their bag, only one blanket lighter than they were to start with. Before he even shakes the bag, Betty sees the hound come running, scratching at their feet in excitement, unrelenting until she reaches down to rub behind his ears. Their boy has been faithful and loyal through it all. His vision has been diminished since the fight with the Ghoulies, when one of them swiped and took out his eye, but it hasn’t stopped him from being always energetic. Even if sometimes in the dead of night they’ll hear him bump into their walls.

 

“Who’s a good boy?” Jughead offers him one of the treats, kissing his shaggy fur. “You are. Guess we’ll have to give you a good trim soon, fuzzball. You up for the challenge, Betty?”

 

“I always am. Only if you promise to hold him down this time. I can’t do it on my own!”

 

They spent another hour at the Market, before the clock overhead in the square chimes again and alerts them that if they don’t go to the scheduled meeting place soon, Veronica is going to come searching for them.

 

It’s almost terrifying, every step she takes towards the place where the buses are supposed to be. If it weren’t for Jughead’s hand to steady her and the gentle thump of Hot Dog’s tail against her thigh, Betty is sure she might have turned around and ran as far as her legs could go. There feels a strange finality in what is about to happen. The arrival of people from the place she once called home. She wonders what it is all going to mean.

 

Veronica greets them with a smile, Wyatt by her side, Archie holding him close so that he doesn’t keep trying to run to the fence and get a look to see if the bus is any closer. She’s so pregnant she has to keep a hand firmly on her stomach and her back, rubbing circles in the tight skin.

 

“Well look who finally decided to show up,” she teases, raising an eyebrow at Jughead, “I hope whatever took you so long was worth it.”

 

“Of course Madame Mayor. It always is.”

 

It’s a nickname that rubs her wrong, which is why Jughead likes to use it so much. Betty rolls her eyes and pulls her friend into a quick hug. Or as much of a hug as she can with the belly between them. Wyatt is quickly wiggling out of his father’s arms so he can be close to his favorite Uncle, asking him a million and one questions about the people coming from the City.

 

“I don’t know what they’ll be like. Only your mom has the paperwork about them.”

 

“And it’s confidential,” Veronica reminds them, “Until they step foot off the bus and I have to check them in with me before they go through Serpent checks. That dress looks so cute on you, B. I love it. I can’t wait until we can lower these restrictions on our trade agreements and I don’t have to smuggle clothes in anymore. Not that I would do that,” she added, turning to Jughead. “Because I am the mayor and would never risk jeopardizing my relationship with the Serpents in such a way.”

 

He rolls his eyes, Wyatt perched on his hip, beanie long removed from his head so it could sit atop his messy hair. “Alright, sure. We’ll pretend I believe that.”

 

Watching Jughead with children always made Betty’s heart flutter. They had been so careful, counting down the days of her period, making sure cycles were misaligned, because they both harbored such fear about the consequences children might bring to them. But with every passing year, she craved the intimacy of a child growing in her belly. It was still rare, to see someone as brave as Veronica, but with the children that the Greendale Witches had brought with them, minds in Riverdale were slowly changing. 

 

Before she has time to think too hard on it, the heavy crunch of tires over gravel alerted them to the arrival of the bus. One of the Serpents on watch shouted confirmation and slowly the gates were pulled open enough for the bus to get through and park. The metal was shut quickly behind it, only to be unlocked again when the driver gathered up the few people willing to enter the City walls and brave their way out. It would be parked for less than an hour to ensure they made it back with plenty of time before sunset.

 

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Veronica beams, straightening up a little. “Remember to play nice, Jughead. We’re trying to help relations not hinder them.”

 

He mutters something under his breath but was quickly soothed by Betty’s gentle touch. They watch as Veronica read off names and out came people one at a time, proof of identity in hand. Once she has checked them off, they are escorted by a duo of Serpents to get checked.

 

“Sorry, I’m late!” Sabrina comes running up, slipping on her jacket over a tight red turtleneck. “I got caught by Hilda and Zelda and we had a long talk about something I don’t remember.”

 

Veronica shoots her a glare, mouthing a warning, but quickly turns back to her list. “Pregnancy hormones,” Jughead muttered and they both had to bite back their laughter.

 

“Josie McCoy and Reggie Mantle?”

 

And just like that, her heart stopped. Betty knows a Josie and Reggie. They had been teachers with her, music and sports respectively, and never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would see them again. As she watches them exit the bus, tears crept at the corners of her eyes and before she can think she is bounding towards them, throwing her arms around Josie in a tight hug.

 

“You’re here. Oh my God, you’re here.”

 

Hope was something she had tried so desperately to hold on as tightly as she could. Hope which was in such low quantity before. Hope which now overflowed from her heart as she clung desperately to the proof that perhaps, just maybe, there was hope for all her loved ones that she had left behind.

 

“You miss me that much, Cooper?” Reggie teases, ruffling her hair. “Whoa. Nice little town you’ve got here. When you said your mom was sending you to butt fuck nowhere, I didn’t think you’d get digs this sweet. Way better than what’s back home, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“What Reggie means to say is that we’re glad to be here. And look at you, girl, you’re crying. You can’t do that or you’ll make me tear up too!”

 

After another quick hug, Betty finally pulls back, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Sorry. Sorry right. So I have people you should meet. This is Veronica, the mayor, her husband Archie, and their son Wyatt. That’s Sabrina Spellman, of the Greendale Witches, and this is...  well this is Jughead. My husband.”

 

Josie gasps, watching the Serpent King offer them an awkward salute. “You got married! I’d be more offended about the lack of invitation but I didn’t even know they did weddings out here.”

 

“It was a private affair. I’ll have to tell you about it later.”

 

Reggie, as it turns out, is far too focused on the pretty blonde girl. “Well, hello beautiful. If I had known that there were girls like you out here I would have come sooner.”

 

“Fat chance,” Sabrina snorts, rolling her eyes. But there was a smile there that was hard to ignore. “Nice try though. Lines like that don’t work outside of the City.”

 

“Well I guess I’ll have to think of some new lines then, won’t I?”

 

Veronica claps her clipboard once. “Alright. You can flirt at a different time. I need to check your ID for formality’s sake but given that Betty seems to know you I’m even more inclined to let you in. And then once I’m done, you’ll follow one of the Serpents to where you and your bags will be checked to ensure it meets regulations. Is that understood?”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain. Any chance the hot blonde can be our escort, though?”

 

“I don’t think--”

 

“Sure, why not?” Sabrina interrupts. “I’ll lead the way. You two get an escort from the head of the Greendale Coven. You must be feeling lucky. Or incredibly stupid.”

 

“Baby, you can bet that I’m always feeling both.”

 

Watching them go, Betty can’t help the excitement bubble up. Jughead pulled her close, kissing her forehead softly, letting his arm drape around her shoulders. She can tell he was happy for her too. Friends from the City. People from before. They were scary in their own right, though. How much has she changed since they last saw her? Surely both Josie and Reggie will be surprised to see her throwing knives.

 

“Is that everyone?” Jughead asks. “I want to get back home to the Wyrm soon so I can station people to watch the new arrivals overnight.”

 

“Just one more.” A voice calls from inside the bus. A girl steps out, blonde hair pulling into pigtails, a bandana wrapped around her head. She offers them a cautious smile. There’s a familiarity in her face that has Betty wondering if perhaps she used to be one of the students she saw amongst the older girls. But she’s looking forward with such a purpose, and it isn’t at Betty. It’s a little beside her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“Jellybean?” Jughead’s voice comes out cracked, surprise evident as Veronica gives a knowing smile. “Is that you?”

 

Jellybean Jones. Betty realizes now why she had seemed so familiar. From the stories. The single picture. This is Jughead’s sister he was so sure was dead. Now she stands before them in the flesh, looking healthy and happy and so excited to be here with him.

 

The reunion is so beautiful that Betty starts to cry. She has never seen Jughead so bright, so full of tears as he clutches his sister tightly, whispering how he can’t believe she’s here, can’t believe she’s alive, can’t believe she came back to Riverdale.

 

“I was told I had to come meet my sister-in-law,” she says with a laugh, gesturing to Veronica. “Your friend really doesn’t know how to call it quits. She’s dedicated. Found mom and I in our little flower shop and wouldn’t stop sending letters until I agreed to come so you knew I was alive. Betty, right?”

 

Never before has she been so grateful to be wearing a nice dress. Even if pomp and circumstance aren’t something that Riverdale is used to, meeting her sister-in-law in jeans and a sweater would have felt bad and she never would have been able to turn off the Alice sounding echo in her mind. Extending her hand and a smile, Betty nods. “That’s my name.”

 

“Well, it’s a good one. Is it safe to say I can stay at your place while I’m here? I didn’t exactly make any other arrangements.”

 

“You can stay as long as you want Jellybean. Jesus, I’m just so glad you’re here.”

 

After the reunions, Veronica invites the new arrivals to her house to taste some of her canned foods in hopes that they would understand some of the survival techniques required out here in Riverdale. Jughead stays close to Betty but is so enthralled with learning everything about his sister’s life now, and she can’t blame him. Once everyone is set out in the living room and Fred Andrews is entertaining the guests, Betty sneaks into the kitchen to help Veronica with food.

 

It was nice to fall back into a routine. They didn’t have to speak as she sliced through strawberries, fingers stained with juices she was sure Hot Dog would lick off later. Veronica had let her borrow one of her aprons to make sure her pretty dress stayed clean and neat as they mixed up syrups and batters and jarred whatever needed to be done.

 

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Betty asked after a moment, looking down into the mixture. “How happy we all right now?”

 

“Well I’d say we deserve it, don’t you? This is something we fought hard for and it’ll never be easy, but it’s what we earned. Now stop with all that worry about strangeness. We should really be celebrating the arrival of City sanitary products. I got extra and I don’t need them. Mind hiding them at your house so we can stock up together?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m sure I could use a few extra.”

 

It’s one of the newer luxuries, something she’s so desperately missed about the City. In her head, she does a quick little math equation to figure out how much time she’s got until her next period. After a moment, she frowns, shaking her head. “No that can’t be right let me do that again.”

 

Veronica hardly pays attention until the knife in Betty’s hand clatters to the ground, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

 

“Oh my God, I think I might be pregnant.”

  
And then, Betty started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have words to despite how grateful I am to everyone who read this fic and encouraged it. When I decided I was going to finally finish my Zombie fic I was completley aware of how universally hated the trope was and thought "fuck it." Especially after my lovely beta encouraged me. Speaking of her @miss-eee, in case anyone was curious, she's the only reason this fic and many of my other ones exist. She's wonderful and amazing and I'm so grateful I'm working with her on my other fics. Thank you all for reading and taking the time out of your day to enjoy my little story!
> 
> For what it's worth, I know this was a cliffhanger, but I had to leave you with something good while I worked on the sequel ;) I'd be interested to hear all your theories on what we might discuss in the future!
> 
> If you're not satisfied with that, please note that I have other fics I intend to update on soon. Promise. Dance with the Devil as well as a currently Untitled Boarding School AU that @miss-eee has also been encouraging me to write!
> 
> A million kisses to all of you for sticking with this fic. I love you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters for this are long (this one was 10k) so I suspect it'll take me some time to update this (especially with my other WIPs. I am a WIP whore apparently)
> 
> Thank you for reading and if you're interested follow me on tumblr [@tory-b](http://tory-b.tumblr.com/)


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